


Phoenix Tears

by PrincessElectra



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (and beyond), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys In Love, Fix-It, Legilimency, M/M, Summer of 1899
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessElectra/pseuds/PrincessElectra
Summary: The summer of 1899 ends with less destruction and heartbreak, but love is not a victory march and the darkness is still a seductive temptress. Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald.“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves. I refuse to accept that there is any future where the world is better place with us apart.”





	1. Part I - The Patronus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by me.

**August 11, 1899**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

Gellert realized that something was amiss the moment Albus closed the door behind him. His auburn head was drooped and his bright blue eyes looked withdrawn, but there was something in his posture that spelled steely determination.

“We need to talk,” said the other boy in a rushed tone.

That phrase almost brought an involuntary smile to Gellert’s face. He had heard it too often all summer, usually preceding some animated discussion that Albus would draw him into because it’s _Albus _and when he gets struck by a brilliant idea or some sudden insight—which happened more and more as they spent all of their time together—he had to share it with Gellert immediately.

“I’m listening,” he replied steadily.

Albus ran a hand through his auburn hair, a colouring that Gellert thought suited no one until he met this brilliant young man. Albus avoided his gaze. “We can’t go right now.”

“What do you mean?” Gellert knew exactly what he meant but that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy.

“Aberforth is right,” murmured Albus. “I know what we said… that one of us will keep an eye on her, that we will take precautions. But Gellert—” His blue eyes met Gellert’s imploringly. “It won’t be enough. Ariana couldn’t handle it. We can’t do that to her.”

Gellert clenched his jaw angrily. “We are doing this _for_ her,” he emphasized. “For _everyone_ like her. So that no one has to go through what she did.”

“I know that!” exclaimed Albus. “Of course, I know that. I still believe in our goals.”

“You just don’t want to act on them,” said Gellert furiously. He should have known better than to expect Albus to put the Greater Good above his misguided sense of duty to his family. It was one of the few things that he wanted to change about Albus. “Can’t you see? You are letting them hold you back. You are meant for great things—things that go beyond the duty to _one_ sick girl—things that will make the Wizarding world a better place for everyone.”

Albus shook his head, eyes stubborn. Gellert knew Albus Dumbledore well enough by now to know how far he can manipulate his friend. The young man was intelligent and flexible-minded, drawn to idealism and as passionate as Gellert, but when he drew a line, he drew it clearly. Gellert had not minded so much when their goals were aligned, but it always gave him some pause to consider that there were certain boundaries Albus was not willing to cross. It looked like they reached their first impasse.

“It won’t be forever,” Albus said resolutely. “It’s Aberforth’s last year at Hogwarts. He has plans for the farm and the animals after he graduates.” Gellert almost snorted. Of course, dim-witted Aberforth’s ambitions hardly extended beyond those goats he loved so much. “He wants to stay here with Ariana. Please, Gellert—” There was a glint of desperation in his eyes. “It will be less than a year. Then we can go together.”

Gellert said nothing. He was still furious. Furious at Albus for turning his back on them, and furious at himself for believing in Albus. Their quest for the Hallows was supposed to be the highest priority. Albus had agreed, and now he was reneging. Gellert had half a mind to stomp out the door, pack his bags, bid Aunt Bathilda farewell, and leave at once. As a parting gift, he might consider transfiguring Aberforth into a goat.

Albus must have sensed his resentment, because he quickly closed the distance between them. He held one of Gellert’s hands in his own, cupping his face with the other hand. “Look at me…” he whispered. Then he pressed his lips against Gellert’s like he had many times before, but Gellert was stubborn and unresponsive. Albus sighed, moving his hand to gently brush aside a lock of golden hair.

“You can stay with me?” he asked, voice breaking a little. “I want you to stay with me.”

Gellert exhaled, desperately trying to keep his control from slipping. He was never good at containing his temper. It was what ultimately ended his career at Durmstrang. Except he wasn’t at Durmstrang now, and this was Albus, not the arrogant grandson of the Headmaster who thought his pure-blood status and noble name meant he was worth more than the most talented student Durmstrang had seen in a century.

When he felt a modicum of his control returning, Gellert spoke again. “Albus… she doesn’t have much time left. You must know this.”

Albus flinched, pulling away from him. “I don’t know what—” he began.

“Don’t, Albus,” he said sharply. “You know what she is.”

“She is my sister!” replied Albus hotly.

“Yes, and she’s an Obscurial.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. This was the only topic he and Albus danced around all summer. Gellert couldn’t be certain at first. Durmstrang, quite rightly, ensured that their students had a passing familiarity with most forms of Dark Magic. Still, he had never heard of any living Obscurials, let alone seen one—until Ariana. As Gellert understood it, they were more common in the past, when witches and wizards were more frequently hunted by Muggles.

Ariana was fourteen, far older than most Obscurials he read about. That in itself was fascinating in an academic sense. The knowledge on Obscurials was disappointingly thin, as they were feared by magical and non-magical folk alike. _Die verfluchten kinder_. The cursed chidren, they called them in Gellert’s native tongue. One thing was agreed upon by all who studied them: the condition was incurable. If it wasn’t for the importance of the Hallows, Gellert would have loved to study Ariana. Not that he ever voiced this desire to Albus, who he suspected would not take kindly to the use of his sister as a curious specimen. The English boy always saw intrinsic value in people rather than their mere usefulness; it always amused Gellert to no end, who believed that a person’s value depended on their usefulness.

“W-we don’t know that.” Albus’s anguished expression did not match his words.

This time, Gellert reached for his hand first. When he spoke, he was surprised by the softness of his words. Then again, he was constantly surprising himself around the older boy. “I’m sorry, Albus.” Maybe he even meant it a little, but it was certainly the right thing to say, as Albus’s expression softened. “Your mother did her best. You _are_ doing your best. But some day, it won’t be enough to save her.”

Albus swallowed, as if restraining the instinct to protest against what he knew to be the truth: Ariana did not have much time left. The increasing frequency of her outbursts was undeniable. And the increasing destructiveness of each incident.

“I won’t leave her, Gellert,” he said at last. The guileless and imploring look he gave Gellert made his fair-haired companion draw a deep breath as something inexplicable fluttered in his chest.

_I should leave_, thought Gellert. _I should leave now and never look back. Go find the Hallows_. The Hallows were the most important thing in the world. Not this bright soul standing before him, clever and sweet and entirely without calculation or motive. Albus may think that they were kindred souls, but Gellert knew better. Albus wouldn’t leave the family that was crippling his destiny, while Gellert already left the family that was far too beneath him. 

“I should leave then,” he said stiffly. He turned and walked towards the setting sun.

The door swung shut as Albus called after him, but Gellert ignored him and kept walking. It was time to move on from Godric’s Hollow.

-*-*-

**August 12, 1899**

**Bagshot Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay a little longer?”

Gellert stepped away from his trunk to look at his great-aunt. She was peering kindly at him, a concerned look in her slightly furrowed brows.

“I’ll be fine, Aunt Bathilda,” he muttered.

“Where will you go?” she asked, still frowning as he packed away the notes he and Albus made during their experiments on human transfiguration.

“I’ll find a place.”

“I would feel much better if you didn’t go alone,” she said. “You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you like. With poor Kendra gone, I know Albus has so much on his plate with that poor little girl! He needs someone his own age, and Merlin knows you two get on like a cauldron on fire. Now that you won’t be returning to Durmstrang, surely you should consider staying—”

Gellert resisted the urge to shout at her. As if going off on his own was somehow his fault! If Albus had kept his promise, he wouldn’t be in this position.

Bathilda cut herself off, probably sensing his annoyance. Gellert held his temper though. After all, she was the last person who was still family to him. Despite being a Bagshot, she never possessed the blood purity fanaticism that plagued his more immediate family.

“Sorry, Auntie Bathilda,” he said, more gently. “I don’t think there is anything here for me anymore. I’ll send you an owl from my next destination.” 

“Where will that be?” she asked again, still concerned.

Truthfully, Gellert had no idea. They—he and Albus—were supposed to figure that out together. The few leads they had on the Elder Wand, their first and most important target, were all of dubious legitimacy. The plan had been to track down the more plausible leads systematically, but they hadn’t quite gotten that far in planning. Again, a deep annoyance towards Albus rose in his chest.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” he admitted.

Bathilda sat him down at the edge of his bed. “Well, my boy, I think that is all the more reason not to rush out the door like this. Sit down with Albus and think this through. Isn’t he part of this funny quest of yours? Make a plan first. Then, when Ariana is doing better and Aberforth is home from school, you can go together.”

He ran a hand through his hair carelessly, still frustrated, about to protest but realizing that she had a point. This would go much easier if he had someone of equal intellect to assist him, a partner he could bounce ideas off, and a friend he can rise with to the top. “_Together_,” they had said over and over again.

A year, he mused. Maybe less. Ariana’s condition was already deteriorating. It wasn’t a charitable thought, but it came to him nonetheless. So what was a few months? He was sixteen years old with the whole world in front of him. He wasn’t likely to find another Albus Dumbledore out there. Truthfully, he never cared about finding someone his equal, until the day he nearly walked into the slightly shy but bright young man who was knocking on Aunt Bathilda’s door to thank her for her latest batch of cauldron cakes.

No, Albus was unique—he understood Gellert in a way that no one ever did and shared his dreams.

Now that he was sitting on his bed next to the trunk, he was also thinking about all the times they laid side-by-side on this bed, far too close for propriety even before they finally kissed and moved forward with their relationship. That was another thing Gellert hadn’t cared about before. At Durmstrang, the girls were either frivolous or full of schemes, and the men were full of unearned self-pride and dull to boot. Gellert had found nothing attractive about any of them.

“_I think you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen_,” Albus had whispered to him two nights ago, grinning at him while waving his hands gracefully to recreate the night sky on the bedroom ceiling. It was a fairly impressive feat of nonverbal wandless magic, but Gellert wasn’t really paying attention and was staring intently at Albus’s lips. “_I don’t think they make them like you at Hogwarts_.” Gellert had smirked and asked, “_What, blond?_” He was rewarded with an eyeroll. “_No, clever_,” was the reply. They had both laughed at that before finding more interest in each other’s bodies for the rest of the evening than the bedroom ceiling.

Well, it honestly made sense, he decided. He could stay a little while longer. He wouldn’t lose sight of their goals, and he wouldn’t let Albus forget either. And if Albus truly started to lose interest in the Hallows or in the Greater Good, he would leave. Gellert was sure of that.

-*-*-

**August 19, 1899**

**Outskirts of Godric’s Hollow**

“What changed your mind?”

Gellert watched as Albus made an exaggerated flourish with his wand. His Patronus, a bright silver phoenix, soared impressively above them. Albus tilted his head in concentration. The silver phoenix flew back towards them and hovered in front of Gellert. Its beak opened, but it was a human voice that spoke.

“Hello, handsome,” it greeted him in Albus’s voice.

Gellert smirked. “Impressive.”

The silver phoenix flapped its wings, flipping in midair and then blinked rather flirtatiously at him, if that was even possible. Clearly, Albus had been practicing.

“I think I prefer you in this form,” teased Gellert, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Albus waved his wand again; the silver Patronus flew off into the distance and out of sight. “What changed your mind about leaving?”

Gellert shrugged and tried to sound nonchalant. “You.”

“Me?” repeated Albus, eyebrows raised and a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

“Of course,” he replied, sounding more casual than he felt. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re good together.”

Albus smiled widely at that. “Yes, we are.”

Gellert stepped forward to give him a soft peck on the nose. “Besides… like you said, it’s only a year.”

Albus squeezed his arm and gave him a look so full of… well, he wasn’t sure what exactly, only that it made him feel like he could accomplish anything in the world. That fluttery and warm sensation in his chest returned.

“I showed you mine. Now show me yours.”

“Show you…?” Gellert was only half paying attention, still distracted by the warmth of Albus’s hand on his arm.

“Your Patronus,” clarified Albus. “You’ve seen mine so many times. I’ve been taking bets in my head about yours.”

Gellert was amused. “What did you bet on?”

“I was thinking a dragon—” Gellert was flattered, but then he continued— “or maybe a worm.”

“A worm!” he exclaimed indignantly. “I’ll have you know, it is most definitely not a worm!”

“Then prove it,” retorted Albus slyly.

Gellert rolled his eyes in departure from his normally dignified self. “Very well.”

He drew his wand and concentrated. For some reason, the Patronus Charm was one of the few spells he struggled with. Some wizards held a belief that only the pure of heart can produce a corporeal Patronus. Gellert never quite believed in that, but it was still inexplicably one of the hardest spells for him to master.

He closed his eyes and recalled the day he and Albus made their blood pact, a symbol of their promise to each other. Never to be parted, always to stand together. He focused firmly on the relieved joy he had felt on that day.

“_Expecto patronum!_”

A huge, silver winged beast burst forth from the tip of his wand. It leapt across the grass, prowling back and forth a few times before dissolving. It was an impressive sight, one of Gellert’s more successful attempts at the charm if he was honest, although not as controlled or as enduring as Albus’s Patronus.

“A thestral…” remarked Albus, eyes wide in wonder. “That must be an incredibly rare form for a Patronus!”

“Says the man with a phoenix Patronus,” replied Gellert, amused.

“Well,” said Albus thoughtfully, “we are not ordinary.”

Over the past two months, neither of them could help but make comparisons with the other. From the outside, it may look like a constant competition of one-upmanship, but they knew better. Genius respected genius unconditionally. They would not be so drawn to each other if not for how well-matched they were in sheer brilliance. In the subjects of Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, they were incredibly evenly matched, which lent itself to endlessly stimulating discussions and debates.

They discovered that both had played Quidditch for the respective school teams. Albus was one of the youngest Seekers in Hogwarts’ history, making the Gryffindor team in only his first year. Gellert’s position was Chaser, and he played competitively starting in second year; in his fourth year, he set a European school record for number of goals scored in one game. Aside from flying, they also had a friendly rivalry in chess, and they were nearly tied with thirteen wins to Albus and eleven to Gellert so far. Even in Muggle literature and poetry, they found much in common.

Of course, there were differences, as they were slowly learning. Albus found it amusing that Gellert was not the most adept in the art of potions. He was by no means mediocre (in fact, compared to their peers, he was above average… but ‘above average’ falls short of his usual extraordinary standards), and Gellert knew more about the theory of potions than most. It was just that Gellert had little patience for the tedious details of potions, making him occasionally clumsy in its practical application. In contrast, Albus was a meticulous potioneer and continues to conduct research in the art of potions; when he was still a student, his knowledge of the subject rivalled that of even the Hogwarts Potions’ master.

In the areas of Occlumency and Legilimency, Albus also has a slight advantage over Gellert, but it was mostly due to more practice from the older boy. After Gellert insisted on practicing with him over the summer, Albus suspects that the gap in their proficiency has narrowed significantly.

On the other hand, Albus freely admitted that he was totally rubbish at Divination, possessing no Sight or Inner Eye or whatever Seers called it. He was rarely dismissive of any branch in magic, but his experience with Divination at Hogwarts had been… disappointing to say the least. Neither his professor nor his classmates demonstrated any objective evidence of possessing the Sight. All of the interpretation of planets and reading of tea leaves seemed highly arbitrary to him. He was ready to dismiss Divination as a woolly and highly imprecise subject. Then he met Gellert, who was exceptionally skilled in Divination and was—if Albus dared to say—an actual Seer.

He was fascinated because Gellert did not read tea leaves or crystal balls. Occasionally, he would make small predictions while they stargazed, citing the movement of particular stars or planets. These predictions were remarkably accurate but mostly about inconsequential events: one of Aberforth’s goats would wander off for a few hours, or Aunt Bathilda would smash a plate before noon, or Albus would find a sherbet lemon in one of his socks (although he wasn’t sure if Gellert deserved credit for that one… he was prone to leave candy everywhere).

Gellert also had visions. Not often—sometimes one in three years, and sometimes three in six months. He shared one with Albus once, and the latter had not been keen to repeat the experience. He was not particularly jealous of this gift of Gellert’s. If anything, it was deeply disturbing and even confusing at times. The single vision that was shared with Albus was a chaotic scene of trenches and men drowning in mud as deafening sounds of artillery echoed around them. It was brief and terrifying. Gellert said it wasn’t always like that, but he still did not envy his friend. If living through war was bad, then seeing the suffering before experiencing it seemed much worse.

And then Gellert told him that sometimes he saw multiple versions of the future—one time period with multiple outcomes. He interpreted this to indicate that the future was constantly in motion. It was maddening, Albus thought privately, and perhaps worse than seeing no possible outcomes at all. But Gellert opined that these conflicting visions were forewarnings of different pathways that he could take. Still, Albus did not see how this was helpful, as it was unclear which decision or set of decisions predicted each outcome. It was dangerous, he hypothesized, as one may behave differently and even bring about an undesirable future in the very attempt to prevent it. He did notice that Gellert dwelled more on the future and possibilities, while he tried to stay mostly in the present.

One time, he was curious and couldn’t help but ask, “Can you see us in the future?”

This drew a frown. “No,” Gellert had admitted. “If I concentrate hard enough, sometimes I can will myself to see a brief glimpse of someone or something in the future. But when I try to see us… it’s always cloudy.”

If he was entirely honest, Albus was rather relieved by the answer. He would rather make that future for himself than see it dictated to him. Gellert, however, seemed rather disappointed; perhaps he felt that seeing them in the future would reassure him in the present, even if the future was not set in stone.

-*-*-

**September 1, 1899**

**Outside the Barn, Godric’s Hollow**

“Take my hand.”

Ariana stared at him warily, her body still shuddering uncontrollably. She always shared some of Aberforth’s mistrust of him, and her beloved brother’s absence only made it worse.

Gellert cursed, not from her lack of trust in him but because he could sense the Obscurus trying to burst out of her. Dark wispy mists blurred the edges of Ariana’s silhouette. Summoning a bit of grain, he encouraged Roxanne, one of Aberforth’s favourite goats, to approach closer. He was also prepared to generate a powerful shield charm at any moment. At least they were already outside and didn’t have to worry about bringing the house down.

“Roxy will come with us to feed the others,” he said encouragingly. “You love feeding Roxy and the other goats, don’t you?”

Ariana shook her head, shaking worse than ever.

“Ariana, we don’t just look after them. We are their family. Don’t you want to see our family?” He copied Aberforth’s words, not without cringing inwardly because only Albus’s mundane brother could call these dull creatures family. But Aberforth was always the one to calm her down, and Aberforth wasn’t here because Albus had taken him to King’s Cross to start the new school year.

Nevertheless, Ariana calmed noticeably at his last words. Her movements quieted slightly, and she was able to place one shaking hand in his, allowing him to lead her towards the barn. The darkness that was threatening to burst out seemed to retreat a little.

Gellert had a lot to think about as he held Ariana’s hand while she fed the goats. What pushed the Obscurus away? A sense of purpose? Such as when he reminded Ariana of a responsibility to look after the goats? No, that wasn’t quite right. She hadn’t calmed then. A sense of belonging, then? When he talked about family, it was like she regrasped a part of herself.

If an Obscurial is created through self-alienation and self-rejection, does the cure lie in a sense of belonging, of acceptance? Can the Obscurus be expelled if Ariana could somehow accept her magic and feel accepted by everyone around her?

“Look!” she exclaimed, tugging at his hand, her dislike for him momentarily forgotten in her excitement. She levitated several small patches of grain and fed three goats at once.

“Well done, Ariana,” he said generously. She was magically gifted for someone without any proper training. That was undeniable. Gellert wondered if her relative longevity for an Obscurial had something to do with her magical ability, so that even though she rejected her own magic, it was able to keep the Obscurus at bay for longer than other children.

Ariana gave him a small smile. 

Maybe she wasn’t beyond help. If only he had more time, maybe a few years… In one fell swoop, Ariana would be free, and he might even be able to harness the power of the Obscurus.

-*-*-

**February 7, 1900**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

Albus crawled under the blankets to lie next to him. It was a chilly winter evening, and Albus was quite satisfied with the final revision of the paper he was planning to submit the next day to Transfiguration Today: _Five Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration_ by Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald.

“Your feet are freezing,” Gellert protested.

Albus rolled his eyes. “Then warm them up.” If Gellert was to be believed, his skin temperature was constantly hovering around the temperature of icicles.

“Maybe I should transform you into a fireplace. A fireplace wouldn’t hog all the blankets.”

“A fireplace doesn’t do this either.” He ran his tongue along the pale neck and collarbone. Albus smirked at the shiver he elicited. He yelped when Gellert rolled on top of him and pinned his arms.

“About time,” he sniffed. “Or maybe you should go sleep with the pile of parchment you love spending so much time with.”

“Only because you have too little patience for editing,” Albus retorted, but there was no heat in his words. He surged up to meet soft lips. Gellert was only too obliging, and they went silent for a while as their mouths (among other things) were far too preoccupied for conversation.

An hour later, while lying in content silence, Gellert remembered something.

“Ariana did it again today,” he said suddenly. “Not the—well, not _just _the outburst. She snapped out of it again.”

Albus propped himself on one elbow. His expression was between hope and disbelief. “All by herself?”

Gellert nodded. “I told her about how nice it would be for her to come back inside so we could all cook dinner together, as a family, and it was like the last time. She just… calmed for some reason.” 

“I don’t understand why it works sometimes but not other times,” he continued. “Maybe you need to catch her early before the Obscurus has built up enough momentum? I wish your dour little brother had paid more attention in the past. He might have more to contribute than ‘oh, only I can calm her down!’ As if that’s helpful. You would think with all the time he spends with her, he would have better insight about her triggers and which key phrases she responds to best.” He sighed. “If only we had more time. She is still getting worse, but with what we’ve seen, I think we should challenge the old dogma that nothing can be done for Obscurials except to wait for the inevitable and prepare for damage control.”

To him, it was an academic interest, although helping Ariana would not be an unwelcome benefit. Sometimes he forgot just how much Ariana’s condition bothered Albus on a personal level.

“Thank you for helping her.” Albus spoke so sincerely and looked at him with such affection in those sparkling blue eyes that his next words about trapping the Obscurus to harness its Dark energy died in his throat.

He felt that ridiculous flutter in his chest again. “Of course,” he said quietly, as Albus moved to lie closer to him.

-*-*-

_The dark is generous._

_Its first gift is concealment: our true faces lie in the dark beneath our skins, our true hearts remain shadowed deeper still. But the greatest concealment lies not in protecting our secret truths, but in hiding from the truths of others. The dark protects us from what we dare not know._

_Its second gift is comforting illusion: the ease of gentle dreams in night’s embrace, the beauty that imagination brings to what would repel in the day’s harsh light. But the greatest of its comforts is the illusion that dark is temporary: that every night brings a new day. Because it’s the day that is temporary. Day is the illusion._

_Its third gift is the light itself: as days are defined by the nights that divide them, as stars are defined by the infinite black through which they wheel, the dark embraces the light, and brings it forth from the centre of its own self._

_With each victory of the light, it is the dark that wins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The dark is generous..." quotes are from Matthew Stover.
> 
> The 1899-1900 school year was not Aberforth's final year (according to canon, he is three years younger than Albus), but I am playing a little loose with the timeline (I blame Fantastic Beasts for inspiring this habit).
> 
> The rest of the story is complete. Will do my best to edit each chapter in a timely fashion and get them posted. Any feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading.


	2. Part II - Phoenix Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps someday, they may look back on this moment (and other moments like this) and realize that all the unspoken doubts were the seeds of a poisonous infestation that they allowed to grow in silence. But can anyone be faulted for wanting love to last a little longer?

**April 15, 1900**

**Godric’s Hollow**

He should have known better.

There was never going to be enough time. If they had started working on Ariana years ago… _“Or if I had_,” Albus later lamented bitterly to him, maybe she could have survived. Even then, there was only ever a slim possibility.

So, in the end, it all amounted to nothing. Well, slightly more than nothing. Gellert was able to contain the Obscurus, which he had trapped in an enchanted mirror, now stored in the barn for him to study later.

None of that mattered to Albus. Or Aberforth, who had been visiting for the Easter holidays. The loss of Ariana cast a dark cloud of resentment in the Dumbledore household. Aberforth, idiot that he was, thought Gellert bitterly, blamed him and Albus. The younger boy’s words were from grief, but Gellert could see that Albus was deeply affected. It only made him dislike Aberforth more.

Ariana’s funeral was held on Easter Sunday. It was a small and private ceremony. Gellert stood beside Albus, discreetly holding his hand. Aberforth was there, not speaking a single word. Aunt Bathilda and Elphias Doge also paid their respects. She was buried next to her mother. Albus picked the epitaph.

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also_.

Gellert felt something almost resembling regret. She had been a pleasant and sweet girl, and she used to hold his hand on the way to the barn when Aberforth was away at school. She had this child-like quality of innocence and trust, even towards him. Of course, it was about the Obscurus, he would tell himself, but as he spent more time with her, she developed a genuine affection towards him. It wasn’t ever something he wanted or needed, but nonetheless, she gave it freely and never questioned his motives. As she was laid to rest, he could almost believe that she was family.

-*-*-

**April 22, 1900**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

A week after Ariana’s funeral, they received their first real lead on the Elder Wand.

Mykew Gregorovitch, famed wandmaker and proprietor of Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe, had been spreading word about owning an unbeatable wand that he was working on replicating. 

Surprisingly, they learned this bit of gossip from Doge, who lingered after Ariana’s funeral to Gellert’s displeasure. Doge reminded Gellert more of Aberforth than Albus, except he was almost fanatically devoted to Albus. After a week, Gellert’s patience was running dangerously thin.

Doge placed an affectionate hand on Albus’s arm at dinner, ignoring glares from Gellert and disinterest from Aberforth, as he regaled them with tales of Albus’s heroics at Hogwarts.

“Now remember, we were bright-eyed first years,” he said between bites. “Didn’t know the difference between a charm and a hex! Anyways, we were waiting for our professor to arrive when the cupboard next to the window starts clanging loudly. We all backed away to the opposite wall, but not Albus. He stands right in front of the cupboard. That’s when it burst right open! Merlin, the screams! We thought he was a goner. It was a dementor, really—a dementor! It goes straight for Albus, and I thought for sure—”

Aberforth interrupted rudely by summoning a pepper shaker across the table, causing Doge to leap backwards. Gellert waved his wand, preventing Doge from toppling to the ground. Despite his disdain for Doge, he didn’t entirely mind hearing about Albus’s exploits at Hogwarts.

Shooting Gellert a grateful look, Doge continued. “But even then, you couldn’t pull a fast one on Albus! He knew, somehow just _knew_, it was a boggart—”

“If it was a real dementor, you would have felt the despair as soon as you walked into the room, not after it burst out of the closet,” explained Albus. “Also, it was only after I alone stood in front of it that the boggart knew what form to take.”

“Well, one loud bang later, the dementor was wearing a pink frock and dancing a waltz! Oh, you should have seen our professor’s reaction.” He nudged Albus, and Gellert wanted to bristle at the unnecessary contact again. “Such talent from the start. Our professors were always surprised to find out that he was only half-blood and I’m the pure-blood! They always thought it must be the other way around.”

“Your professors are very foolish then,” said Gellert stiffly. “The distinction is only between the non-magical and Wizard kind. Blood purity has little influence on magical ability. I, too, am half-blood.”

Albus looked at him in surprise. They never talked about Gellert’s family, aside from Bathilda, who Albus knew was the maternal aunt of Gellert’s mother. He realized he did not even know his mother’s name; he thought she was perhaps born an Englishwoman, given her connection to the Bagshot family and Gellert’s near perfect grasp of the English language. And the fact that Gellert always called Bathilda ‘Auntie’ and never ‘Tante’.

However, it was equally likely that Gellert was simply linguistically gifted, as he also spoke fluent French, Russian, Hungarian, Polish, and, of course, his native German. (Not that it was a competition, but Albus was fluent in Mermish, Gobbledegook, French, German, Spanish, and Portuguese; he was working on Swedish and Mandarin Chinese. Aside from English, it was not unusual for him and Gellert to compile research notes together in French and German.)

He knew even less about Gellert’s father, only that the Grindelwald family was mentioned in _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ as ‘an ancient and proud pure-blood family of Bavarian and Austrian ancestry’. They rarely talked about blood status, except to agree that abolishing the International Statute of Secrecy would certainly make life easier for Muggle-borns and others with Muggle connections. Blood purity was simply not important to either of them, although Albus always assumed that Gellert was pure-blood based on his family name.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Doge congenially. “I most heartily agree.” Being agreeable, Gellert noted, seemed to be a pointless talent of Doge’s. “You must have had a hard time at Durmstrang, my friend. I did not know they accepted half-blood students.”

Gellert remained silent, but his mouth was pressed in a hard line.

“Is that true?” interjected Albus, disturbed.

“Oh yes,” said Doge, not waiting for Gellert to answer. “While I was travelling near the Swiss Alps two weeks ago, I was pursued by a Graphorn, vicious beast! Snapped my wand in half. I was only grateful it was not my neck. Locals at the inn I was staying at sent me to a young bloke named Gregorovitch. Talented wandmaker, they said, even better than the Ollivanders, though I doubt that’s true. He replaced my wand.”

He pulled it out to show them. “It _is_ a bloody good wand, I must admit. Funny bloke, told me about his time at Durmstrang when I said I recently graduated from Hogwarts. I don’t think you would have liked that school, Albus. They’re all about martial magic and duelling, quite combative if you ask me. Gregorovitch confirmed, quite certainly, that no Muggle-born has ever set foot in Durmstrang.”

He looked over at Gellert, who was still casually twirling his own wand between his elegant fingers.

“One of Gregorovitch’s?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly. It was made of vine, measured 12 and ¾ inches, contained a dragon heartstring core, and was reasonably supple. It had always served him well, but he had no intention of sticking with it forever.

“He’s in high demand now,” Doge confided in a hushed tone. “There was quite the queue when I went. Rumours say he has some Wand of Destiny or Deathstick.”

Gellert froze, gripping his wand tightly. He looked over at Albus, who similarly straightened in alarm.

“He wouldn’t confirm it to me,” continued Doge, not noticing the sudden interest. “He did tell me privately that he was trying to recreate some ancient wand. All very vague and deliberate, if you ask me. But it certainly helped his business, I must say!”

For the next hour, he and Albus took turns questioning Doge for details about Gregorovitch and his rumoured unbeatable wand. Gellert could hardly contain his excitement until they were alone again.

“This is _it_,” he whispered later as they lay in bed, his left hand resting on top of Albus’s right hand. (He really had a thing for those beautiful fingers.) Gellert didn’t exactly have a vision, although sometimes he had those too, but this was more of a feeling, an instinct. He was rarely wrong about them.

Albus stroke his palm lightly. “I think you might be right.”

“We have to go first thing tomorrow,” he decided. “Damn, we should probably go now but there isn’t time to prepare.”

Albus’s hand stilled, although he did not pull away.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gellert, frowning.

“Nothing.” Albus was lying.

“This is what we wanted.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Albus finally. “I’ve been thinking… _a lot_… since Ariana’s… Well, it’s just that in all the history of the Elder Wand, it has never ended well for the owners. Almost every transfer of the wand involved murder. No one ever possessed it for long, either.” His shining blue eyes were troubled. “Sometimes I think one man shouldn’t have that much power.”

“We are not _them_,” insisted Gellert. “We would not boast about the wand to the world. We would not use it for petty revenge. We will use it to bring order and justice.” He paused, leaning closer to his bedmate so that their lips nearly touched. The closer contact had the desire effect, as Albus shivered against his chest. “And we are not _one_ man. We are doing this together, no matter who masters the wand.”

He was not ready to admit that he wanted to be the one, and maybe a part of him wanted to believe that he would be happy if Albus mastered the wand, as long as they were together.

If the other man knew anything about his thoughts, it went unvoiced as Albus squeezed his hand in return. “I know,” he said quietly. There was the barest hint of residual hesitation in his voice.

“We are not going to hurt anyone unnecessarily,” promised Gellert. He did mean that. He had never understood cruelty for the sake of being cruel. Actions should always serve a higher purpose. “Albus, I promise.”

In the dark, he could see the auburn head nodding slowly. “Of course, I’m with you.”

Gellert released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A sensation of relief flooded through his body. He would have gone without Albus, he told himself, but this was much better. Their paths were aligned and would remain this way. A part of him knew that some doubt would always seep into Albus, who cared about faceless and nameless people out there who did not deserve his concern. At the same time, Albus would not be Albus if he didn’t care. The perfect complement to his more pragmatic style. Between the two of them, they would be both feared and loved.

In any case, an adventure would do them some good. They had stayed in Godric’s Hollow for far too long.

-*-*-

**May 2, 1900**

**Outside Lucerne, Switzerland**

Gregorovitch was indeed a very foolish man. His boasts about possessing the Elder Wand attracted more than just the attention of Gellert and Albus. He had enough wits about him to abandon his store and usual workshop soon after his encounter with Doge, but not enough sense to drop off the radar entirely. 

By the time they closed in on the man, Gellert knew that they had a limited window of time before other seekers of the wand also closed in. The young barmaid who tipped them off had agreed to keep quiet, and he thought she was charmed enough by him that she would, much to Albus’s chagrin, but he doubted that she was the only one who remembered seeing Gregorovitch at the tavern. Stupid man.

Unlike Gregorovitch, he and Albus made sure to alter their appearance using transfiguration. Gellert was now sporting a head of wavy black hair, olive skin, and dark brown eyes. Albus went for dirty blond hair secured in a messy ponytail paired with green eyes and a neck tattoo. The last detail was just gratuitous in Gellert’s opinion, but it didn’t stop him from pressing his lips against the intricate artwork (and being disappointed when Albus rejected the idea of adopting some permanent ink).

“You certainly wasted enough time flirting with her,” grumbled Albus and they Apparated just outside of the inn where Gregorovitch was allegedly staying.

Gellert raised one dark eyebrow. “You would prefer if I was rude to Maria?”

“Of course not.” Albus looked offended in his new disguise. “But really, I thought we were on a tight schedule. And honestly… _Maria_?” He looked so put out that Gellert barely resisted the urge to laugh. He felt slightly lighter.

He pressed forward with a light kiss, as he raised his wand to cast a Silencing Charm. When their lips parted, Albus whispered, “Someone’s here.”

Gellert tilted his head. He visualized reaching out outwards… and oh yes, Albus was right. He could sense them too. He was less experienced at Legilimency than Albus, but he could still identify the disturbance that accompanied the presence of new minds in the cold night air.

“Quickly,” he said, unlocking the door with a spell and pushing Albus into the inn ahead of himself. “_Colloportus! Duro!_” He sealed the door behind him.

“I think there are… five, no—six,” amended Albus. “One of them is on the second-floor balcony, I think.” He looked up the stairs, and in that moment a shattering sound of glass could be heard coming from above them. This was followed by an explosive sound against the front door, which didn’t budge thanks to Gellert’s earlier spells.

They were out of time. A flash of red light flew through the window, blocked quickly by Albus without a word. “I can hold them off!” he shouted at Gellert. “Go find Gregorovitch.”

Gellert nodded, already muttering a Speed-Enhancing Charm as he swiftly ascended the winding steps. _Be careful_, he wanted to say.

The second floor was a mess when he arrived, splintered pieces of wood and exploded brick scattered across the floor. Guests were awake and screaming in alarm. A few doors opened. Another man was shouting as well, likely the intruder. Gellert stopped for a moment to centre himself.

“_Legilimens_.”

He felt fear all around him, confusion too. He also detected the fog of minds that were still waking up. All normal. He kept searching. Another one with fear… but worse… terror. And something… _guarded_.

This was the one. He blasted the door open.

He saw Gregorovitch, standing rigid in his nightclothes and cowering in the farthest corner of the room, clutching a wand tightly in his hand. Gregorovitch raised his arm.

“_STUPEFY!_”

In all the times he used the Stunning Spell, he had never put this much power and meaning behind it. The flash of red light was almost blinding, the noise accompanying it deafening. Gregorovitch was lifted high off the ground and slammed into the ceiling with a loud crunch. The wand in his hand fell with a clatter to the stone floor.

Gellert barely had time to register his triumph when—

“_Avada Kedavra!_” Gellert dodged, the green light missing him by a few feet. He was no longer alone in the room with Gregorovitch. The masked intruder was short and stocky, his wand raised and ready to curse Gellert again.

“Accio—” He tried to summon the Elder Wand, but neither he nor the masked intruder could finish casting any spell before the floor beneath them split open.

He barely had a moment to cast a Shield Charm, before he, the masked intruder, Gregorovitch, and all the contents of the room crashed towards the ground floor.

“LOOK OUT!” He heard Albus shout, just in time for him to conjure a wall of brick to block the five streaks of green light flying towards him. Killing Curses, he thought grimly. The masked men had not come tonight to be merciful.

He took in his surroundings. Gregorovitch was unconscious but alive. While Gellert had been evading the one attacker upstairs, it looked like Albus had held on with dear life against five. Five who had no qualms about casually sending Killing Curses in their direction. Albus was leaning against the wall, cradling his left side gingerly. Was that something scuttering across…

Sudden movement interrupted his thoughts. The short and stocky one who had been upstairs with him was now unmasked after their fall, his pig-like face triumphant and gleaming beneath a thin tuft of mousy brown hair. His fat fist was clenched around what Gellert immediately recognized as the wand that Gregorovitch held only moments before. This intruder had somehow, in this shattered chaos, found the Elder Wand. He held it in his left hand, still holding his own wand in his right hand, and smirked at Gellert.

“_Expelliarmus!_”

The quickness of Gellert’s spell nearly caught the man off guard, as he raised his own wand rather than the Elder Wand to defend. “_Protego!_”

He narrowly managed to deflect Gellert’s Disarming spell.

“Let’s go!” shouted one of his companions.

They started Disapparating, and only quick reflexes allowed Gellert seize one of them by the arm. When he materialized, he was in a dark alley. This must have been their rendezvous point. One of the intruders was shouting again.

Gellert shot a Stunning Spell and heard the satisfying crunch of a body hitting the ground. His next spell hit a Shield Charm. The five remaining intruders now stood with their wands pointed at him. The pig-faced one holding the Elder Wand spoke.

“Now, now, it seems you left your friend behind,” he scolded in perfect English. The one next to him screamed, “_Confringo!_”

Gellert deflected him easily.

“You know, I think your friend didn’t look so good when we left,” continued the pig-faced man with smug satisfaction. He gestured to his companions and then to himself. “Now, you can waste time fighting all of us, and remember I have this.” He waved the Elder Wand playfully in his small fat hand. “Or you can try to save your friend from impending death. I heard it’s quite painful to die from Acromantula poison.”

Gellert stopped in his tracks. Blind rage washed over him. “You’re lying,” he hissed.

The one to the left of the pig-faced man laughed. “Then by all means, stay and fight us,” he sneered. “But who will pick up your little friend’s half-eaten corpse after we’ve dealt with you?”

Promises to Albus be damned. Gellert was going to end all of them, one Unforgivable Curse at a time.

But before he could utter a single curse, the unbidden image of Albus leaning weakly against the wall invaded his mind. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything else.

He hesitated, wand still raised. His mind was racing. If it really was Acromantula poison, every moment he stood here exponentially decreased Albus’s odds of survival. But the Elder Wand was _right here_, within his grasp after so long! He might never get another chance.

He found himself frozen, unable to move. Then the pig-faced man grinned widely at him and Disapparated.

Gellert didn’t see if the rest of his companions followed. He had already Disapparated back to the inn where he left Albus.

-*-*-

**May 17, 1900**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

Two weeks passed with little improvement.

Two weeks ago, he Apparated the barely conscious Albus back to Godric’s Hollow, a risky endeavour in Albus’s state. The wound was bad, already festering with venom. Gellert had always been naturally gifted at Healing magic, which he had never particularly cared for in the past. Healing was a rather soft branch of magic. But as Albus laid there, pale and unmoving, he had never been more grateful for his inclination for Healing spells. It took everything he could muster to keep the venom at bay.

He brewed the strongest Healing Potion he knew. But it still wasn’t enough. As he worked furiously on that first night, Bathilda sent for a Healer from St. Mungo’s. To their relief, Healer Abbott, who lived close by in Godric’s Hollow, arrived promptly enough.

After examining Albus, the Healer’s expression was grave. He provided a few additional potions, which Bathilda helped him administer at once.

“Acromantula venom is highly toxic,” said Healer Abbott with a shake of his head. “With the dose he received… You did a fine job, young man. We have done everything within our abilities, but I must admit that his chances of recovery are not favourable.” He had smiled kindly at Gellert, but there was some pity in the gaze that made Gellert want to tear the man apart for his presumption that Albus would do anything but make a full recovery. “Still, we must hold onto hope.”

That was two weeks ago. Since then, Albus continued to breathe but remained unconscious. The ugly wound on his left flank refused to heal. Gellert continued to intermittently extract venom from the wound with Healing charms, but it showed no signs of improvement.

Every once in a while, when Bathilda wasn’t in the room, Gellert would steal a soft kiss, but it always felt wrong. Cold and unresponsive, nothing like the Albus he knew. He had never felt so angry or useless before. Albus was dying, and he didn’t have the Elder Wand.

He needed fresh air. After a quick word with Bathilda, he walked out the front door and aimlessly down the footpath.

He had replayed that horrible night in his mind over and over again. At one point, he realized with savage pleasure that the pig-faced man may have possession of the wand, but he was not the master of the wand. It was Albus who poured over the finer points of wandlore when they began researching the Hallows in earnest. Therefore, Gellert felt quite certain that he himself was the current master of the Elder Wand, gaining its allegiance when he Stunned Gregorovitch.

He felt a wave of frustration as another realization struck. If he had the Elder Wand right now, his Healing magic might be powerful enough to save Albus.

After some time, he found himself deep in the woods. He had no idea how long he had been wandering or why he chose to head in this direction. It was getting late and he should turn back.

He took out his wand, ready to reorient himself, when a streak of red flew past him at eye level. He stilled abruptly, curious and wary. There was a rustling from above him. When he looked up, a beautiful bird the size of a swan with majestic red and gold plumage dived towards him. He ducked instinctively, but the creature did not attack him. The bird hovered gracefully in front of him, wings beating rhythmically, as it surveyed Gellert with piercing black eyes. Dazzling feathers aside, it also possessed an impressive golden tail that glowed with heat. He had seen this kind of creature before, although only in Patronus form. But seeing the real version still drew a gasp from him.

“You’re a phoenix,” he whispered in awe. How he stumbled across this incredibly rare species during an aimless walk through the woods, he had no idea. The phoenix made a small clucking sound, sweeping its tail towards Gellert. The impressive creature was trying to communicate with him.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

The phoenix clucked again, waving its tail feathers more insistently at Gellert. Cautiously, he reached a hand towards it. Magical creatures had never been his calling, and he felt more wary than anything at having serendipitously _stumbled_ across a legendary bird.

In the moment that his hand came into contact with the golden tail feathers, there was a warm sensation and a flash of orange light. For a moment, he had the dreadful thought that the phoenix decided to burn him alive. But when he blinked, he was suddenly back in Albus’s room. He stumbled a little, mildly disoriented, as he had been in a quiet forest only a moment ago. The phoenix was there too; it must have transported both of them.

He drew his wand when the phoenix approached Albus, perching on the edge of the bed. The phoenix must have sensed his apprehension because it blinked a few times and cooed reassuringly. He relaxed a little but didn’t lower his wand. The phoenix ignored him and turned back to Albus.

The beautiful creature tilted its head. Large pearly tears fell from one of its shining black eyes, landing on the dressings that covered Albus’s left flank wound. Gellert watched in fascination and a little a flicker of hope thumped in his chest.

The tears completely soaked through the bandages, which was odd as the phoenix had only shed a few drops. But the liquid evaporated almost as quickly as it soaked through, leaving the dressings remarkably dry and pristine within seconds.

Satisfied, the phoenix cooed pleasantly, flapped its wings and settled next to the windowsill.

Gellert undressed the wound, tossing the bandages aside. His breath caught. There was nothing there. The ugly festering wound that oozed with venom that he had been battling for the last two weeks was simply gone. He ran his hand along the flawless pale skin, eliciting a small shiver from Albus.

He made a strangled sound, halfway between a laugh and a cry. He sank to the floor next to Albus. All of the frustration, fear, hatred for the masked men, resentment at Aberforth—every feeling that haunted him for the past few weeks rushed forth like water breaking a dam. He cried silently.

-*-*-

**May 21, 1900**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

Albus tried to stifle a yawn.

“You should sleep,” said his overly observant companion.

“I’ve done nothing but sleep,” he protested. “If I sleep any more, I’ll turn into a princess.”

“What?” said Gellert, amused.

“Oh nothing, it’s um… Sleeping Beauty, a Muggle fairy tale,” replied Albus, smiling but not taking his eyes off the parchment he was reading. “My mother said she was a princess who was cursed into a long sleep.”

“Did she wake up?”

“Eventually. With true love’s kiss.”

“Of course.” Gellert brushed a finger against auburn locks. “Silly of me not to try that first.”

“I know you kissed me while I was sleeping,” said Albus, shifting to rest his head against Gellert’s left shoulder. “Rather presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”

“I am not sure you’re one to talk, Albus. In fact, when I woke up this morning and found your hand on my—”

“Surely you were dreaming.”

Gellert shoved him gently. Albus laughed, a sound that was sweet and carefree and made Gellert’s heart feel warm. He would be content to stay right here for a long time.

“Anyways, I think this is brilliant,” said Albus, waving the parchment. “We may need to restructure the discussion. I think we should emphasize the reciprocity aspect of the relationship between Conjuration and Vanishment. Thurkell’s Second Principle states that conjured objects do not last, and the more complicated the object, the quicker it vanishes. Therefore, we propose that objects that self-vanish or do not last long are conversely easier to conjure and remain more stable. Then go into how we tested this hypothesis by comparing perishable and non-perishable items, et cetera.”

Gellert nodded. “There is something else I want to test,” he said after a beat, shifting to adjust the pillow behind his back, then replacing Albus’s head to rest on his shoulder again. “Maybe for the next paper.”

He pressed a featherlight kiss to the top of Albus’s auburn locks. “Phoenix tears.”

Albus looked fondly across the room at their new friend, who somehow managed to look magnificent while sleeping, red and gold feathers fluttering lightly from the gentle breeze through the open window. “_There is a legend in my family_ _that a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in need,”_ he had told Gellert last summer, but now he could scarcely believe that one did truly come to him when he was in need.

Meanwhile, Gellert glowered at their sleeping companion. He realized quickly after the first day that the phoenix—dubbed Fawkes by Albus—was not particularly fond of him. Oh, Fawkes loved Albus, rarely letting the young man out of his sight, but he only tolerated Gellert. After much coaxing from Gellert and a little encouragement from Albus, Fawkes begrudgingly provided Gellert with a few vials of his tears. Even with anti-vanishing spells, they never lasted long, and Fawkes never made it easy for Gellert to obtain more.

Maybe it was because he never had an affinity for animals, magical or otherwise. Or maybe phoenixes can detect Dark Magic or those who seek it. Gellert decided not to overthink it.

“You think you can _conjure_ phoenix tears?” asked Albus. “Because they self-vanish?”

“I’m not nearly there yet,” admitted Gellert. “I need more time to experiment, which is hard to do when the tears are so volatile.”

Albus looked thoughtful. “Have you tried a Stabilizing Potion?”

“The Stabilizing Potion I brewed on Tuesday preserved one batch for a little over three minutes.”

“Not great,” admitted Albus, but he had another thought. “The Stabilizing Potion only preserves a substance for as long as the potion itself is present. The more volatile the substance, the quicker the potion is consumed.”

“Well sure, but if you are suggesting that I should use more potion, don’t forget—”

“The maximum amount of Stabilizing Potion used at one time cannot exceed the volume of the substance being preserved,” finished Albus, quoting from the _Advanced Potions Making_ textbook.

“Precisely…” But even as he said it, the solution was dawning. “Wait, Albus…”

“Drip the potion into the vial at the rate it is being consumed to maintain a constant supply of Stabilizing Potion.”

“You’re a genius.”

“This was all your idea,” said Albus generously. “If this works, it can revolutionize Healing magic.”

Truthfully, Gellert was still a long way from that, but this might be the first breakthrough.

He also tactfully refrained from mentioning his other experiment with phoenix tears. He made this discovery after setting up a small laboratory inside the barn two days ago. Whenever he approached the mirror containing the trapped Obscurus with either Fawkes or a vial of phoenix tears, the Obscurus always recoiled violently, reacting with distress. Perhaps a solution to controlling the Obscurus can be found in that stubborn magnificent creature.

-*-*-

**May 30, 1900**

**Bagshot Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

The benefit of a setback was that it allowed him to re-evaluate his plans.

It took another two weeks after Fawkes’s appearance for Albus to fully regain his strength. In those quiet days, they spoke a lot about their experiments and ideas for future projects and a little about where to go next.

Ariana was gone. They had stayed for her, and now there was nothing to keep them in Godric’s Hollow.

There were still no leads on the Elder Wand. After revisiting the details of that evening, Albus agreed that Gellert was likely the master of the Elder Wand, although that meant little without the wand itself. The identity of the pig-faced man was also unknown, but Gellert was almost certain that he was British.

Gellert believed that their fundamental issues came down to lacking a position of influence and lacking supporters. Both would take years to accomplish, but now was the time to begin. His first thought was to find positions for both of them at the British Ministry of Magic. They can start to network with others and climb the political ranks. Furthermore, they can keep eyes and ears open for sightings of the pig-faced man.

But after their discussion about Vanishment, Conjuration, and phoenix tears, Gellert had a different idea. As much as he adored Albus, he had to admit that the man was no politician. He simply did not engage in deception or evasion. There were other ways for Albus to influence young minds and gain supporters.

After Albus fell asleep, Gellert composed a letter disguised in his penmanship. He was excited to have a new plan for both of them.

-*-*-

**June 12, 1900**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

“A letter from the Headmaster?” Albus was puzzled when the morning owls arrived. “I hope Aberforth isn’t in trouble again. If he gets expelled in his last month, I swear…”

Gellert looked up from his own parchment, putting down his quill.

Albus scanned the letter quickly, astonished surprise dawning on his face.

“I got a job offer from the Headmaster,” he said, frowning a little as he passed the letter to Gellert. “Professor Scrimgeour wants to know if I can start as an assistant teacher in the Defense Against the Dark Arts department this fall.”

“That’s great news, Albus,” said Gellert a little too casually. “You would make a great teacher.”

Blue eyes peered at him suspiciously. “It says here that he is writing in response to my query about a teaching position. I never…”

Gellert raised both hands in appeasement. “All right, it was me,” he confessed. “I was going to talk to you about it, but you were sleeping off the Acromantula poison. I thought it would be a good idea, or at least it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” He paused, noticing Albus’s crossed arms and stony glare. “I’m sorry,” he added, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

“So, you decided to forge a letter in my handwriting?” asked Albus incredulously, shaking his head. “Really Gellert, you crossed a line!”

Albus was rarely angry, and Gellert thought he looked formidable in his anger. He did not enjoy being on the receiving end. “I thought it would make you happy,” he said defensively. “It’s a stable job with a good income. You said the current professor was also nearing retirement.”

“You can’t just go around forging letters and making decisions on behalf of other people!” said Albus heatedly. “Or do I not get a choice? Because _you_ will decide what is best for me? And what is best for _everyone_?”

The fair-haired man wanted to protest. Too often, he felt like he _did _know better than most people, but he doubted that Albus would welcome such an opinion right now.

“You’re right,” said Gellert apologetically. “I should not have done that, not to you, in any case. But you’re always so modest. You would have waited years until you had enough ‘experience’ before asking for a position.” He noticed Albus was about to protest. “I _know_ you, Albus.”

His companion threw up a hand in exasperation. “That does not give you the right to make unilateral decisions like this! We are supposed to be partners.”

Gellert abandoned his seat and stepped towards Albus, who stubbornly stepped away until his back was touching the sink. Gellert used this opportunity to step into his personal space, crowding Albus against the sink. Their foreheads touched and for a moment neither of them spoke. Albus exhaled, and Gellert recognized the familiar scent of lemon and honey.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.”

Albus was unsure whether he wanted to accept the apology or continue to scream at Gellert. After all, his strong-headed, overly presumptuous companion would certainly deserve it. But when he looked into the shining mismatched eyes, which gazed at him so forlornly that he almost felt guilty (which was simply ridiculous, protested the logical part of his mind), he no longer had the heart to remain angry. It was utterly absurd and frankly alarming the way his mind and body responded to Gellert. His very soul simply gravitated towards the man; he was not sure if he could even recognize manipulation anymore.

He sighed lightly. “Don’t do that again.” He tried to sound stern, but the will was already gone.

Gellert nodded, and the familiar smile was back. “I won’t. I promise.” When the blue eyes that transfixed him softened, he knew he had won. He leaned forward and was pleased to be met halfway with by soft lips.

“Will you accept the job?” he asked when they broke contact.

“I’ll think about it,” said Albus, giving him a pointed look. “It _is_ a good offer. And I would probably enjoy it more than working at the Ministry of Magic.”

Gellert gestured to the pile of parchment on the kitchen table. “I certainly cannot see myself teaching students,” he said wryly. “I think I will work for the Ministry instead.”

“The _British_ Ministry?” clarified Albus, carefully hiding any trepidation in his voice.

“Of course,” said Gellert. “Why? Do you want me to leave?” He was teasing.

Albus laughed impatiently. “Of course not. I never want you to leave.”

Gellert smiled at that.

“What about… Durmstrang?” asked Albus. “Don’t they usually ask for school records?”

“When I wrote to them explaining my academic record, they said it did not matter since they only accept records from Hogwarts. All foreign-educated applicants must take qualification exams for the Department they are applying for and submit a character reference. Of course, the intent is to make it harder for foreign wizards, since the qualification exams are supposed to be more difficult than your so-called N.E.W.T.s, but I should be able to handle it. For the second part, Aunt Bathilda has kindly agreed to write mine.”

This was a relief to Albus. He didn’t think there was an exam out there that Gellert wouldn’t pass with flying colours.

“The Department I’m applying for only accepts applicants with British wizarding citizenship.” Gellert scoffed a little. “Something about national security. Fortunately for me, as long as I have resided in this country for at least one year and have one British parent, I qualify automatically for citizenship.”

Albus smirked involuntarily, a little pleased that he was right after all about Gellert’s mother. He glanced down at the parchment Gellert was working on earlier.

_ Application for the Auror Training Program _

“You want to be an Auror?” asked Albus in surprise.

“You have to start a political career somewhere.” He shrugged. “Two of the last three Ministers for Magic were former Aurors.”

As an Auror, he would also be able to make important connections, including international connections. Not to mention, he could keep tabs on the latest in the Dark Arts without arousing any suspicion.

Albus nodded, eyes gazing over the rest of the application and freezing at the last line.

_Surname: Grindelwald_

_Given Names: Gellert Matthias_

_Date of Birth: April 19, 1883_

_Place of Birth: Zell am See, Duchy of Salzburg, Austro-Hungarian Empire_

_Wizarding Citizenship: Austro-Hungarian Empire and British Empire_

_Blood Status: Half-blood_

_Father: Matthias Grindelwald, born in Duchy of Salzburg, Austrian Empire_

_Mother: Athénaïs Grindelwald (née Lestrange), born in London, England_

His tiny involuntary grimace did not go unnoticed by Gellert. 

“Judging by the look on your face, I’m going to guess that you have never met a Lestrange that you liked?”

Albus blushed a little, but Gellert didn’t seem offended, only amused. From Quidditch rivalries to offenses against fellow students, Albus had not spoken kindly in the past about members of the Lestrange family who had attended Hogwarts during his time. Of course, he had no idea that Gellert was closely connected to the Lestranges back when he vented his feelings about them…

“We have never talked about your parents,” said Albus after a moment of silence.

“There isn’t much to say other than they are pure-blood elitists who are obsessed with wealth and status,” said Gellert in distaste.

“Why did you write half-blood as your blood status?” asked Albus.

“Because I _am_ half-blood,” he replied with a humourless laugh. “My father’s mother was quite the wild child in her youth. One night, she and her friend went out for drinks at a local Muggle establishment. Two naïve girls alone at a tavern? The local boys decided to take advantage.”

Albus felt sick. “Did she try to fight them?”

A dangerous glint flashed in Gellert’s mismatched eyes. “She was a witch. Maybe she could have if her mind was still clear, but even so, revealing magic in front of Muggles carries a harsh penalty in the Empire. She was not the first nor the last person to be victimized by Muggles as a result of the Statute.”

Of course, Albus immediately thought of his father and Ariana.

“As a result, she became pregnant,” continued Gellert. “When she gave birth to my father, her parents pretended that he was their child and she was the child’s sister. You see, they had tried for years to conceive a male heir without success, much to the family’s despair. While the thought of mating with Muggles was disgusting, they still saw a son as a way to continue the family line. They did not care that their daughter was assaulted by Muggle lowlifes, only that no one ever discovered that their only male heir had tainted blood.”

“Ironically, my father preached blood purity the most out of all of them,” he added disdainfully. “He did not care that Muggles were causing our kind to cower and live like rats. He would rather avoid Muggles like a coward himself. He was quite proud of the day he married into the Lestrange family, as if that could be considered an accomplishment.”

“What became of your grandmother?”

The glower in Gellert’s eyes deepened. “Tante Katharina’s parents never trusted her to keep the family secret. They tried to confine her to the house. But she was quite a talented witch and always found ways to escape her confinement. Eventually they decided to keep her under the Imperius Curse. Permanently.”

Albus recoiled visibly. “Did she try to resist?”

“Of course,” replied Gellert bitterly. “But she had the power of two Imperius Curses restraining her. She fought and fought for years, but persistent resistance against the Imperius Curse eventually causes the mind to fracture. After a few decades, not much of her was left.”

Albus shuddered at the image of a young woman caged in an austere room, with no control of either her actions or her thoughts, passing the decades alone until every last memory of happiness and freedom had faded. Hers was a fate worse than death. By comparison, Ariana had been lucky.

“Near the end, her mind could no longer function. She couldn’t even eat or swallow. I saw her two months before she passed. That afternoon, she asked to see her son. I only knew her as my mad spinster aunt, so I thought she was confused as she often was. But she spoke more lucidly that day than I had ever heard her speak in my entire life. She cried about the night in the tavern and about her little boy, the one she was forced to call her brother.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Albus sympathetically. “What she went through—”

“Should have never happened,” finished Gellert. “Just like what happened to Ariana should have never happened if we could all live openly with our magic. This is why we must take a stand, Albus.”

“We _will _take a stand,” he promised, eyes shining fervently.

Gellert gave him a tired smile. “Not everyone understands the importance of our freedom,” he cautioned. “When I confronted my father… let’s just say he reacted badly.” His face twisted into a disgusted sneer. “Threatened me with the Imperius Curse. I told him I would like to see him try. I didn’t care about their secrets; people needed to know the crimes that Muggles have been inflicting on us for too long. When I let it slip at Durmstrang the truth about my father’s heritage…”

His sneer transformed into an expression akin to glee, but it was not the same buoyant exuberance that Albus usually adored beyond words could express. Instead, it was a cruel and fearsome joy of satisfaction for what he was capable of inflicting on others. In these moments, he was nearly fearsome to behold.

“They were certainly… _uncharitable_ about it,” he said with scorn. “The Headmaster’s idiot grandson decided to make it his mission to punish me for having tainted blood, since that was to him the greatest crime and not what the Muggles did.” His cold smile widened. “Well, let’s just say it took the matron two months to piece him and his little gang back together after I was finished.” He spoke with such a flourish of delight that Albus looked away uneasily.

“Gellert…”

This time, Gellert also turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. He hated it when Albus spoke like that, like he was somehow disappointed. Like he somehow had the right to be disappointed, when Gellert was only standing up for his beliefs—_their_ beliefs to be precise. That righteous thought should have been enough to erase any shadow of guilt, but it never was where Albus was concerned. He could not understand why every fibre of his being craved for Albus’s approval in the same way a drowning man claws for his life raft.

A warm touch on his hand and a gentle voice interrupted his brooding. “I understand,” whispered Albus. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes. I know you would never hurt anyone on purpose. Sometimes, you just lose control.”

Gellert didn’t say anything, not wanting to admit that he didn’t regret his actions. It also hurt to realize that Albus did not truly know him. If he did, he would not sound so disappointed every time he learned of Gellert’s more ruthless deeds. A show of force would always be necessary in exchange for obedience; he wished Albus would learn to accept this reality. Every revolution in history paid a price in blood, and theirs would not be an exception.

“Besides,” Albus was saying in a lighter tone, “if you had not been expelled, we would have never met. And meeting you has been the singular happiest accident of my life.”

He gave Gellert such a genuine smile that he could not help but return it in equal passion. When Albus intertwined their fingers, he squeezed back tightly, because meeting Albus was also the single best thing that ever happened to him. As long as they were together, as they were always meant to be, any obstacle can be conquered. Having each other would always be enough. With this thought, Gellert pushed aside his bubbling turmoil for another day.

They sat like that for a long time, hands joined, hearts united—their previous discord temporarily ignored. Perhaps someday, they may look back on this moment (and other moments like this) and realize that all the unspoken doubts were the seeds of a poisonous infestation that they allowed to grow in silence. But can anyone be faulted for wanting love to last a little longer?

-*-*-

_The dark is generous, and it is patient._

_It is the dark that seeds cruelty into justice, that drips contempt into compassion, that poisons love with grains of doubt._

_The dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause those seeds to sprout._

_The rain will come, and the seeds will sprout, for the dark is the soil in which they grow, and it is the clouds above them, and it waits behind the star that gives them light._

_The dark’s patience is infinite._

_Eventually, even stars burn out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind feedback thus far! I adore writing these two nerds (although editing is another story).
> 
> I adore Ariana, but unfortunately, I never planned for her to survive. Rest in peace, sweet angel. :(
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I welcome any feedback.


	3. Part IIIa - Edelweiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is one fundamental principle has stood at the core of Healing magic since the very beginning—that only love can truly heal the soul."

**August 9, 1900**

**The Barn, Godric’s Hollow**

Fawkes clucked at him impatiently.

“Yes, yes, I know,” retorted Gellert, equally impatiently, but not yet ready to break for lunch. “If you think spell invention is so easy, why don’t you give it a try?”

Fawkes made a disapproving noise, turning his head away haughtily.

“Stupid bird,” he muttered under his breath.

_I am going crazy_, he thought. _I am having a one-way argument with a bird._

He scribbled in his notebook: Regeneration Charm – Attempt #91.

“Well, here goes nothing.” He screwed his eyes shut. “_Regenero avis._” He made a swooshing motion with his wand instead of a flick, while simultaneously projecting a happy thought as he spoke the incantation. It was a long shot, but…

A stream of silver liquid emitted from his wand engulfed the broken wing of the swallow he was trying to heal, before evaporating away and leaving the wing looking as good as new. The little bird chirped, flapped its new wing to test it and then took flight in delight.

Gellert gasped in surprise.

“Did you see that?” he asked Fawkes, who only blinked in response. “Oh, come on, that was pretty good!” He was sincerely glad that Albus was not around to observe him seeking the approval of a songbird.

“Is it the new wand movement?” he asked. “Or is it the happy thought I projected? I thought I tried everything, but then I remembered Albus saying that the most powerful spells need a part of ourselves, like the Patronus Charm. Was that it?”

Fawkes was mostly unreadable, except he did turn his head towards Gellert at the mention of the Patronus Charm.

Gellert smiled triumphantly. “That_ is_ the difference, isn’t it?” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Wait, are you connected to the Patronus Charm in some way? Is the Patronus another manifestation of the healing power of your tears?”

It may have been his imagination, but Fawkes cooed almost approvingly.

“I should try healing something bigger,” he decided, jotting a few notes down.

At this, Fawkes chirped indignantly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll feed you first,” grumbled Gellert, putting down his quill. “In the name of Merlin, you are never this needy around Albus.”

Fawkes turned his head away, making it clear who was his favourite. Gellert didn’t even mind this time, buoyed by his progress. He even sliced a couple of extra sweet pears for Fawkes at lunch.

-*-*-

**January 24, 1901**

**The Red House, Hogsmeade**

Albus looked up from the pile of papers he was grading when he heard a familiar _pop_ as Gellert Apparated into the kitchen of their shared home, which they had affectionately dubbed the “Red House” after its cheerful scarlet bricks when they first moved in four months earlier.

“I saved you some dinner,” he greeted and was rewarded with a warm kiss. Golden locks of hair tickled his cheek. He ran a gentle hand across Gellert’s forehead, pushing away the few strands of fly-away hair. A few snowflakes melted under his touch.

“I was held up,” said Gellert apologetically. “The others wanted to go for drinks.”

Albus smiled. “You are playing nice?”

This drew a raised eyebrow from his fair-haired companion. “Of course,” he said, slightly indignant. “I can be very charming, you know.”

“Oh, _I_ know,” replied Albus with a smirk.

In the beginning, he was worried that Gellert would clash with his fellow Aurors-in-training. While he was accustomed to the charming and passionate side of his lover, he also knew that Gellert can be impatient with those who were less intelligent than himself… which was most people. Lately, however, Albus discovered that his fears were mostly unfounded, as his steadfast companion was periodically late in coming home, clearly spending some time to charm his colleagues.

Albus was starting to feel put out, grumbling privately to himself that maybe he should start eating supper in the Great Hall, but somehow his partner seemed to pick up on this too. Whenever he was late, Gellert started bringing home little gifts for him. A pair of water-repelling gloves, a small vial of dragon blood, and once a gold pendant with the Hallows symbol. _“I was just thinking about you.”_ He would always kiss him sweetly and apologetically, spending the rest of his night making Albus the center of his attention.

Let it never be said that Albus Dumbledore was immune to Gellert Grindelwald’s charms.

Gellert shrugged off his cloak and removed his scarf and sent both flying towards the coat stand near the front door.

The red and gold scarf caught Albus’s attention. “My Gryffindor scarf! I thought I lost it.”

“I’ve been borrowing it.” Gellert looked a little sheepish. “It’s very warm,” he added defensively.

But Albus was smiling widely. “It’s a great colour on you,” he said mischievously. “I always thought you would be a Gryffindor.”

Gellert sniffed. “A house full of hot-headed brutes? No thank you. Now, the cunning and ambition of Slytherins, that sounds more like me.”

“Who are you calling a hot-headed brute?” challenged Albus indignantly, swatting him in the chest. “I’m taking my scarf back.”

“Oh, hush, you know I don’t mean you.” Gellert grabbed his wrist, giving him a teasing smile. “Your crude brother on the other hand…” He shook his head. “Never mind, I’ve got something for you.” Albus finally noticed the other hand he was holding behind his back.

“You really didn’t have to,” protested Albus, who did not want Gellert to think that he was not free to enjoy the company of other friends. If anything, he was happy that Gellert was planting more roots in England.

“It’s really the smallest thing,” said Gellert dismissively. “Not up to my usual standards at all.”

Albus chuckled, waiting indulgently for him to continue.

“I made a quick stop near Lake Zell before I came back,” explained Gellert, referring to his family’s home in the Austrian Alps. “I picked up a few of the herbs you said Nicolas Flamel wanted for your project. But while I was on Schmittenhöhe—that’s the mountain that overlooks Lake Zell—I found one of these.”

He withdrew the hand he was hiding behind his back and presented a single flower to Albus.

Albus studied it curiously. It was a unique looking thing, with furry white petals arranged in the shape of a star, and it seemed to sway in the room despite the lack of a breeze and emitted a faint silver glow. When Gellert placed it down on the kitchen table, the flower hovered slightly above the hard surface.

“It’s beautiful,” said Albus, smiling as he poked one of the fluffy petals, which sent a warm tingle up his arm. “What is it?”

“A silver edelweiss,” replied Gellert. “It is a magical species of the edelweiss flower and native to my home. I’m not too familiar with it, as it is quite rare, but I’ve been told that unlike the regular edelweiss, it has impressive longevity.” He tapped Albus’s nose playfully. “I know how you love eccentric things.”

His partner did not deny it. He flashed Gellert another warm smile and transfigured one of his spare quills into a ventilated glass bell jar to store his new gift, which he placed carefully on the shelf by the kitchen window. 

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I love it.”

Gellert was the first to fall asleep that night, noticeably exhausted after his long day. Next to him, Albus quietly opened his copy of _Magical Species of Flora in Continental Europe_. He sifted through the pages until he found the correct entry.

_The silver edelweiss is an exceedingly rare magical counterpart to the common edelweiss flower. It is native to the Austrian, Bavarian, and Swiss Alps. According to the famous Austrian herbologist Adelina Baumgartner, the silver edelweiss signifies love and fidelity and can only be harvested by a person who possesses true devotion for another. Once harvested, the silver edelweiss maintains its longevity for as long as the devotion from the giver to the recipient remains. Therefore, the death of the silver edelweiss is considered synonymous with the irreparable loss of love between two people._

Albus closed the book carefully. He sat unmoving for several minutes, racing heart betraying his calm exterior. When he looked over at his sleeping companion, a burst of fondness and affection threatened to catapult his heart out of his chest. The younger man looked so carefree and peaceful when he slept, golden hair tossed messily across the white pillow.

He snuffed the bedside candle and wrapped his arm across Gellert’s chest, careful not to wake him.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

-*-*-

**December 17, 1901**

**Hogwarts Castle**

Albus tugged him through the hallways, his long legs moving quickly in excitement.

“It’s quite extraordinary!” he exclaimed, pushing through a large wooden door and leading Gellert to the middle of the room. A huge ornate mirror stood before them, reflecting their images.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” asked Gellert, confused. He looked at his own reflection, blond hair well-coiffed and mismatched eyes gazing back at him.

“Oh, wait a moment.” Albus stepped to his left, gesturing for Gellert to take his spot directly in the centre of the mirror.

This time, when Gellert stared into the mirror, he was transfixed.

“Well, what do you see?” asked Albus expectantly.

It took a moment for Gellert to find his voice. “Does this mirror show…?”

“Have you guessed?” gushed Albus, grinning.

Gellert tore his eyes away from the entrancing image to squint at the baffling inscription on top of the mirror.

“It shows my… deepest desire?” he asked, feeling slightly lightheaded.

“Exactly,” affirmed Albus, looking quite pleased to have discovered such a peculiar object. “Oh, let me guess! Do you see yourself holding the Hallows? The Wizarding world living openly around you?”

“I… yes, I do,” replied Gellert hesitantly. “Both actually,” he added, trying to inject an air of certainty into his voice.

Albus looked questioningly at him, lips quirked into a bemused smile as if he did not quite believe Gellert. But if he picked up on the lie, he did not confront him.

“I don’t know how long it has been at Hogwarts,” he continued. “Amazing, isn’t it? Dangerous though, the more I think about it. I can imagine people standing in front of it… just longing… and wasting away.”

Although his mind protested, Gellert forced himself to step away from the mirror. _Goodness_, he thought, _is my hand shaking?_

He cleared his throat. “So, what do you see in the mirror?” he asked Albus.

In response, the other man winked and shook his head. “Maybe someday, I will tell you,” he replied coyly and infuriatingly.

-*-*-

**June 18, 1902**

**London**

Georgina Hale gave him a small wink as she walked out of her Concealment and Disguise exam. She was the last one. Gellert acknowledged her with a little smile. Aside from himself, only Georgina, a talented Muggle-born witch who graduated from Hogwarts one year previous, was sufficiently competent at self-transfiguration to challenge him for the title of top of their class.

“I think celebratory drinks are in order.” He offered an arm to her, which she gladly accepted.

He turned to the two men to his left. “Macmillan, Black, care to join us?” he offered.

Phineas Black declined begrudgingly. “Black family dinner,” he muttered, displeased tone indicating that he would much rather be in the company of his colleagues. Gellert managed a sympathetic smile. By now, he knew Black well enough to know that his father, Professor Phineas Nigellus Black, rarely saw eye-to-eye with his son.

Dougal Macmillan declined as well. “Next time,” he said. “I promised to take Ursula to the circus tonight.”

Gellert and Georgina bid them goodbye and set off on their own.

Diagon Alley was quite lively on this pleasant summer evening, and the Leaky Cauldron was bustling. They took two free seats near the bar. Georgina tossed her golden hair, handing her cloak to Gellert. They drew a fair share of attention from the surrounding patrons.

“_It’s because we’re gorgeous together_,” Georgina told him at some point when Gellert kept pointing this out. This had made both of them laugh, drawing even more looks.

“How are you, Esther?” he greeted the barmaid who approached them.

“Very well, thank you,” she responded politely, but she only had eyes for Georgina, who blew a kiss in return.

“Subtle, Gina,” he scolded.

“Oh, come off it, Gellert,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just being friendly. Besides, everyone knows I have eyes for no one except you, gorgeous.” She batted her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

He shook his head, bemused.

“How is Albus?” she asked, changing the subject. “Should we arrange another dinner in Hogsmeade soon? I heard they opened a lovely French place.”

“Maybe next weekend,” he replied. “I’ll make the reservation.”

She was referring to their casual arrangement. When she wanted to see Esther at the Leaky Cauldron, Gellert usually escorted her. When he and Albus wanted to spend a night out, Georgina tagged along to prevent any misconceptions. As far as anyone at the Ministry knows, she and Gellert were a solid item. After all, why not? Two talented, beautiful Aurors-in-training would naturally be drawn to each other.

After a few flirtatious exchanges with Esther, Georgina turned her attention back to Gellert when Esther ran off to take drink orders from another customer.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal.”

“I haven’t even bought a ring,” he deadpanned.

“You think you’re so amusing,” she said, swatting his arm. “What would Albus say? I prefer to remain among the living.”

“Albus doesn’t believe in taking lives,” he retorted, expertly dodging a kick under the table.

“I’m talking about abolishing the International Statute of Secrecy,” she continued, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “You know I agree with you. But I was thinking about something the other day.”

“Go on.”

“Don’t know if I’ve mentioned, but my father is a pretty accomplished physicist, and he said something to me the other day—about how every great invention ever made was in response to limitations encountered in the physical world.” She sipped her firewhisky and grimaced. Gellert couldn’t understand why she insisted on ordering it every time. “Anyways, it got me thinking. Muggle technology is something unique, isn’t it?”

“They are forced to make contraptions to compensate for their lack of magic,” said Gellert. He had heard this argument before. “If we integrated them into our society, they would no longer need to go to such extremes. We would be able to help them.”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” muttered Georgina thoughtfully. “Implementing the Statute allowed mysticism and magic to recede from Muggle life. After the Statute, the Muggles went through the Enlightenment, followed by the Industrial Revolution. They were able to elevate themselves when we left their world.”

“The Statute was in response to their ignorance, hatred, and persecution of our kind,” argued Gellert. “And what does their technology offer us? Pollution in our rivers?”

Georgina nodded. “Of course, magic is still superior to most of their technology,” she conceded. “The idea of repealing the Statute makes a lot of sense because I still think we can help them a lot more than we are currently. I mean, we actually have charms that can clean pollution from the rivers, but we don’t use them to avoid attention. Still, maybe we should remember that not all of their technology is useless. Has Albus ever told you about the Hogwarts Express?”

Albus had mentioned the school train to Gellert. One of the few examples where Muggle technology was adapted by wizards.

“Yes, but that is an exception rather than the rule, don’t you think?”

Georgina nodded again. “In some ways, I can hardly believe I spent the first eleven years of my life without magic,” she admitted. “But it also made me realize that Muggles are becoming more aware of us already.”

“Muggles like your parents,” he supplied. Of course, when a witch or wizard is born into a Muggle family or when a witch or wizard marries a Muggle, the involved Muggles are usually (not always) made aware of the Wizarding world. To Gellert, this was simply not enough.

“The census records kept by the Ministry are proof of how knowledge of our existence is spreading, is it not?” asked Georgina. “In the last fifty years, we have expanded our population significantly by intermarrying with non-magical folk.”

“So, you think it is inevitable that our societies will be fully integrated one day?” he questioned skeptically. But how long would this slow integration take? In the meantime, should they just allow the Muggles to continue waging wars and pillaging this world?

“Yes, I think in time, hiding our existence will no longer be possible.” Her hazel eyes looked warmly into his. “However, our separation will continue to cause tremendous suffering for both sides until that day. If you know a way to help this process along, you can count me in.”

Gellert raised his glass to that.

She took another rueful sip of her drink. “I still cannot believe that something like Rappaport’s Law exists in the New World! If you hadn’t told me—I couldn’t have imagined it. Forbidding any contact with Muggles with the threat of imprisonment? It’s positively medieval!”

It always surprised Gellert that so few British witches and wizards knew about the situation in America. “I want to get rid of all of that,” he vowed.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, downing the rest of her firewhisky, then wincing in regret.

He chuckled at her pained expression and pushed his own butterbeer towards her, which she accepted with a grateful look.

Maybe it was because he never liked bullies (as he realized at Durmstrang), or maybe it was the influence from Albus, but Gellert realized very early on that he wanted supporters, not thugs. He preferred the company of intellectuals like Black, Macmillan, and Georgina Hale, people who may even have their own opinions rather than follow blindly, because he liked the challenge of molding them into accepting his ideas. Every once in a while, they may even offer some unique insight, allowing Gellert to evolve his own beliefs.

-*-*-

**October 13, 1902**

**Dumbledore Residence, Godric’s Hollow**

Aberforth scowled heavily when he opened the door and was greeted by Gellert and an unknown middle-aged witch. The witch wore a stern expression and a hideously colourful Muggle-style dress.

“What do you want, Grindelwald?” he grunted, eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you frolicking with my brother in—”

“Aberforth Dumbledore,” interrupted Gellert loudly, “this is Isadora Crouch from the Auror Office.” The stern witch did not smile. “We are making a formal visit in response to recent complaints by Muggles in the area about usual behaviour in your goats.”

Aberforth gawked at him in disbelief and open hostility. “Are you being serious?” he bellowed. “My goats are able to herd themselves home, and that is now a crime worthy of the Auror Office?”

“Your reckless behaviour has resulted in no less than ten Muggles reporting what they have seen,” retorted Grindelwald. “You have flagrantly violated the International Statute—”

He was interrupted by a derisive laugh from Aberforth. “Now this wouldn’t be the same Statute that you spent hours—no, days talking about tearing down—”

“Unlike you, I have never—”

“Because I always knew you were an asshole, Grindelwald, but now I have proof that you are a hypocrite too—”

“Enough!” shrieked Crouch. “Mr. Dumbledore, I sincerely recommend that you take these accusations seriously. We will not be so lenient with further offenses.”

“Fine!” roared Aberforth. “Yes, I performed a memory-embedding charm on my goats so they can roam safely. They haven’t hurt anyone. And if the Muggles say otherwise, they are lying!”

“You have failed to Obliviate the witnesses to—”

“ALL RIGHT, YES! I did not Obliviate any of those small-minded villagers! It will not happen again! ARE YOU SATISFIED?” His face was nearly the colour of his hair.

“For now, perhaps,” tutted Crouch, unimpressed. “You are also forbidden from performing any such charms on animals in the future. I will be logging this offense with my office. You should know that we take violations of the Statute very seriously.”

“VERY WELL!” shouted Aberforth, the vein on his forehead pulsating with every word. He gave Gellert a look of deep loathing. “You have my statement. NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE AND DON’T COME BACK!”

He slammed the door in their faces.

“We will need to corroborate his statement with the local Muggles,” said Crouch matter-of-factly. “I have a list of addresses.”

When they reached the first house, the old farmer and his son were most uncooperative. They took one look at Crouch’s bizarre outfit and snidely refused to answer any enquiries, laughing openly in her face.

She turned calmly to Gellert and said, “Well, young man, this field mission is meant to be instructive to you. What do you suggest should be our next move?”

“We can move on to the next address and try to get a statement,” he replied, “or…”

Crouch waited expectantly.

“It would be far more efficient if we obtained a statement here and moved on,” he continued. “We need to be mindful and resourceful with our time. With magic, we have tools at our disposal to ensure a quick interrogation.”

“Precisely,” replied Crouch, pleased with his answer. “I find the Cruciatus Curse to be most effective in this scenario. Quick and never fails to get you an answer.”

Gellert did not contain his look of surprise, which did not go unnoticed by Crouch.

“We Obliviate them afterwards,” she explained. “It lingers as an unpleasant sensation, but leaves them with no memory or permanent damage.”

He nodded. He also felt a rush of anticipation; learning powerful spells had always appealed to him, and the Unforgivable Curses were among the hardest spells to master. Even Durmstrang only gave their students a basic lesson in the Unforgivable Curses. Aside from demonstrating the Cruciatus Curse on frogs, his teachers never permitted the students to actually practice the spell. He was pleasantly surprised that Crouch was providing a logical and acceptable setting for him to learn the curse.

“Now, I will demonstrate on the old man,” she instructed. “I would like you to work on the son. The key to performing the Cruciatus Curse, Mr. Grindelwald, is that you must really _mean_ it. Do not fret if it takes you a few attempts. _Crucio!_”

Agonized screams cut through the air. To his own surprise, he lowered his wand, as his mind flooded with images of soft auburn waves and kind blue eyes. After a few seconds, the screams stopped. Crouch touched his shoulder encouragingly.

Then, he remembered. These were the same Muggles who mocked them derisively. He and Crouch were getting answers and teaching them a lesson at the same time. These men mistakenly thought they were better than the two of them; they were not entirely innocent. They were going to help him become a stronger wizard. 

He raised his wand again.

Gellert was by far Isadora Crouch’s favourite student. He was well-liked and commended by all of his Auror mentors, but her favouritism for him was the most apparent. She requested his company frequently on her field missions, rapidly bolstering his practical experience. While she possessed almost a fanatical dislike for users of Dark Magic, her own familiarity with the Dark Arts surpassed that of most of her colleagues. ‘_We must know our enemy intimately to defeat them ruthlessly’_ was her philosophy. Her other axiom was _‘Our goals justify our methods.’_

However, Crouch was not well-liked by some of her colleagues and students. Georgina professed to Gellert several times that she found Crouch’s methods to be abhorrent. Macmillan was neutral about her, but he rarely worked with her. Crouch and Phineas Black shared mutual dislike for each other, as she was a close friend of his father and the Black family. Gellert personally thought she was one of the most effective Aurors in the department. But he knew better than to share specific details of their missions with his colleagues or with Albus.

-*-*-

**November 25, 1903**

**Portree, Isle of Skye**

Gellert circled a few extra times on his broomstick, hidden from view by thick clouds, until he spotted the red flare. He descended on cue, noting that Dougal Macmillan was mirroring his descent from a few hundred yards away.

He landed by the side entrance of the stone church, expecting that Macmillan touched ground in the front cemetery as planned. As he dismounted, the commotion coming from within the church rose to deafening levels.

He blasted the door open, a Shield Charm already erected to deflect a dozen curses that were immediately thrown in his direction.

He swore loudly as he ducked a flash of green light flying towards his face. There was no Shield Charm against the Killing Curse.

Ducking behind the pew, he grimly surveyed the scene. His senior Auror colleague Jeremiah Smith laid face down near the alter. A young boy, no older than six or seven years old, was collapsed on the ground beside him, shuddering with convulsions and blurring with a darkness around his edges in such dreadful familiarly to Gellert that he tightened the grip on his wand involuntarily. He was rapidly running out of time.

Four wizards in crimson robes surrounded the prone figure and the boy, and the fifth wizard wore a gold and black mask—MacLeod the Monstrous and his four disciples seemed casually unaware of the grievous danger that was about to befall them.

The front door of the church flew open in that moment. One of the Dark wizards shouted in Scottish Gaelic.

Using the distraction of Macmillan’s arrival, Gellert catapulted himself across several rows of pews. He silently Stunned one of the disciples, who crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. The other three turned away from Macmillan to confront him. He managed to blast one across the church and hex the second, who dropped to his knees screaming as grotesque tentacles spurted out of his face. Macmillan flattened the last disciple with a well-aimed full Body-Bind Curse and rushed to check on Smith.

He shook his head and turned anguished eyes to Gellert. “He’s gone,” he said hoarsely. “Also, I should mention—the Muggle villagers heard the disturbance—they are coming.”

Gellert did not acknowledge him, aiming his wand at MacLeod the Monstrous.

“What have you done to the boy?” he demanded.

MacLeod responded with a nasty smile. “We only made him into a powerful weapon.”

The young boy moaned and gasped, still convulsing as his face contorted in pain. A black fluid-like cloud was starting to form around his body, expanding with every breath he took.

“You have no idea what you have done!” screamed Gellert.

MacLeod smirked again, his wand raised at Gellert, who was prepared.

But instead of Gellert, he aimed at Macmillan. “_Avada Kedavra!_”

Macmillan ducked, escaping death by mere inches. The curse also few past the boy’s head, who shrieked in fear; the darkness around him expanded.

“_Expelliarmus!_”

“_Reducto!_”

The combination of their spells blasted the wand out of MacLeod’s hand and caused a stone table to explode into his chest. The Dark wizard coughed feebly.

“WE MUST GO!” Gellert shouted to Macmillan. If the Obscurus inside this boy resembled Ariana’s Obscurus at all, they were probably mere seconds from being disintegrated by the boy’s final fatal eruption.

“We have to save the boy!” protested Macmillan. “We can’t leave him!”

“No, we—we can’t save the Obscurial,” refuted Gellert. But he hesitated, unable to ignore the progress he had made with Fawkes and the Obscurus in the mirror. He shook his head and berated himself. No, he had no way of knowing if it would actually work. He would only endanger all of them.

“We have to try!” Macmillan was still arguing.

He gritted his teeth. “ALL RIGHT! Shield Charm and Apparate him outside. NOW!”

Macmillan nodded, generating a shield a placing a firm hand around the boy’s shaking shoulders.

“What about MacLeod?” he hollered at Gellert. “We need to take him in! Alive if we can.”

Those were their orders: take the Dark wizard alive if possible but stop him at all costs.

Gellert shook his head. The time for mercy was over. They had no time to negotiate a surrender from MacLeod, and he was in no mood to risk their lives for the Dark wizard, who already proved that he was willing to murder them indiscriminately.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replied. “GO!”

Dougal Macmillan Disapparated with the boy.

Gellert stepped through the rubble to where MacLeod laid helplessly. He pressed a boot mercilessly into the Dark wizard’s chest, whose fingers clawed uselessly at his leg.

“I can save you right now,” he said calmly to the other man. “But I won’t—for the Greater Good.”

The defeated man gasped wordlessly.

“This will not be quick,” Gellert told him. He wanted the other man to know that he would suffer. “This will not be painless.”

He spoke the incantation carefully; a lack of control could be disastrous. He waited until MacLeod’s eyes widened with fear at the sight of the roaring Fiendfyre advancing towards them before he stepped away and Disapparated out of the church.

The terrified screams of MacLeod the Monstrous and his disciples echoed satisfyingly in his ears when he re-emerged outside next to Macmillan and the boy.

Macmillan gaped at him and the burning church. “What happened?” he demanded.

“They resisted,” said Gellert shortly.

His friend nodded and sighed in relief. “I’m glad you made it out.” He then gestured towards the boy, who he had encased in the bubble of a Shield Charm. “I can’t contain him for much longer.”

Fortunately, at the sight of the fire, Muggles were fleeing away from the church, ignoring the three of them standing in the church cemetery. Unfortunately, Gellert was certain that a Dark Magic explosion would surely draw some attention. He almost regretted not leaving the boy in the church to be consumed by Fiendfyre.

If he was going to try, he needed to act now. Macmillan was right. The boy was about to burst.

“I may have a way,” he said quickly. “I’ve been experimenting with something… If it doesn’t work, we need to Apparate out of here immediately. If it does work, you may see a dark shadow escaping. I need you to trap it inside the strongest Shield Charm you can manage.”

If Macmillan was confused at all by these instructions, he hid it well and simply nodded stoically. Gellert made a mental note that if things ever came to a full-blown revolution, he should ask Dougal Macmillan to be one of his lieutenants. The man trusted him and has proved himself to be wholly unflappable.

“Lift the shield,” he ordered.

Macmillan did so with a wave of his wand.

With every fibre of his being, he prayed and poured every last bit of his magical ability into his next spell. “_Regenero animae et mentis_.”

A year and a half had passed since the first breakthrough with Fawkes. Since then, he managed to make a few refinements through experimentation and occasional contribution from Albus. He was both right and wrong about the parallels between his Regeneration Charm and the Patronus Charm. His spell needed a powerful thought, but it needed something even more powerful than a happy thought. It needed a feeling that Gellert was not entirely sure he was capable of experiencing. He tried anyway, and there was only one person he thought about as he poured all of his might into the charm.

He vaguely heard Macmillan gasping in surprise, but he did not allow his concentration to break. He focused on the feeling, allowing it to flow through his chest. His spell grew in strength; a bright stream of silver liquid from his wand pushed against the darkness in the young boy, pushing it out slowly.

He had no idea how long he stood there, feeling more drained by the second. How much longer can he hold on?

Then in an unexpected burst, the dark shadow was expelled from the boy, who gave a final moan before his head lolled to the side unnaturally, falling unconscious on the grass. Gellert collapsed with him, not even noticing that Macmillan was wrestling the escaping Obscurus.

“Grindelwald!”

The bellow of his own name cleared some of the exhausted fog from his mind.

He propped himself up on one knee. “Oh, right,” he said, wincing.

They needed to trap the Obscurus. He rummaged in the pocket of his coat, which had been enlarged on the inside with an Extension Charm and contained most of the tools he would ever need on the job, until he found and withdrew a small mirror. He shakily waved his wand until the enchanted mirror expanded to a reasonable size.

“Trap it in here,” he said weakly. “Guide it with your shield.”

By the time the Obscurus was secured, he was on the verge of collapse again. Macmillan knelt next to the boy to check for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” he whispered. He turned to Gellert, a smile tugging the corner of his lips. “My goodness, I don’t know how… but you did it.”

-*-*-

**November 25, 1903**

**St. Mungo’s Hospital**

Albus, his normally calm and collected partner, swept into the ward like a tornado, demanding to know his location and condition from the ward sister. Gellert felt considerably lighter at the sound of his voice.

“I’m here,” he said, a little surprised by how quiet and tired he sounded. “I’m fine,” he added, injecting a bit more levity into his voice.

Albus was at his side immediately. Macmillan, who had been hovering by the foot of his bed, stepped back to give him room.

Two concerned blue eyes swept over him. He noticed a faint twitch from Albus’s right hand, knowing that he was resisting the urge to hold his hand.

Macmillan cleared his throat. “Well, I should get going,” he said to Gellert. “The report won’t write itself. I will take care of it, so don’t you worry about a thing. They will probably give you a much-deserved commendation. Get some rest, my friend.” He turned to Albus. “It’s nice to see you again. Don’t let this one get too bored.”

He winked. Albus returned a small smile. “Nice to see you too, Dougal.” They were once schoolmates at Hogwarts, although Dougal had been in Hufflepuff.

Once they were alone, Albus drew the privacy curtain. He wrapped his arms around Gellert in a fierce embrace. Gellert sank into the hug without resistance. A warm, comforting breath tickled his ear.

“I was so worried when I heard,” he whispered with his head buried firmly in the crook of Gellert’s neck.

Gellert said nothing for a moment, a twisted part of him exceedingly delighted by Albus’s concern, but this thought was followed by a twist of guilt in his stomach.

“Everything will be fine,” he reassured, stroking Albus’s hair gently. “I feel—well, depleted of magic, but the Healers say I will be back to normal in a few days.”

Albus reluctantly released him from the embrace but refused to put more distance between them. He touched Gellert’s cheek hesitantly, as if checking to make sure he was real and would not disintegrate right before his eyes. Gellert caught his hand and pressed soft kisses to the graceful fingers.

“I heard about what you did for the boy,” said Albus, bestowing him with an affectionate smile. “You really are amazing, Gellert.”

The blond man felt colour rise in his cheeks; his heart thumped traitorously. He felt like a schoolboy again; somehow, Albus continued to have this effect on him.

“With your help,” admitted Gellert. “And that stupid bird.”

Albus laughed, dissipating some of the seriousness in the air. “And you wonder why Fawkes doesn’t like you!” Privately, Albus thought Fawkes was actually quite fond of Gellert and vice versa, but both were too stubborn to admit it.

He rubbed his thumb across the callused palm of Gellert’s wand hand.

“No use of magic for two weeks,” grumbled his partner. “Might as well live as a Muggle.”

Albus pressed a kiss to his pouting lips.

“Excellent time for you to learn how to cook properly,” he teased.

Gellert scowled. “I am not a house-elf.”

His lover responded with another placating kiss. Gellert sighed, relaxing into the comfort of Albus’s presence.

After a few minutes, Albus said quietly, “I am sorry about the other Auror. Did you capture the Dark wizards?”

Gellert stilled. His jubilation flagged a little. “They’re dead,” he said flatly.

He didn’t regret it, not exactly, but he also did not want to talk about it, particularly not in front of Albus. For a moment, he thought his companion noticed his sudden change in demeanour, but then the moment passed.

“I am sure you tried everything to bring them in alive,” said Albus with a reassuring smile.

The pit in Gellert’s stomach grew.

“They—they were firing Killing Curses at us,” he tried to explain. “I—I didn’t have a choice.” He lied rather easily. “With the Obscurial and the villagers—”

Albus pressed a finger to his lips to stop him mid-sentence. “It’s okay,” he said earnestly. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know you did your best. You saved that boy’s life.” He brushed a hand along Gellert’s jawline. “I trust you.” Albus was not sure whether he said it for Gellert or for his own benefit.

“I wish it had gone differently.” Another lie. It was becoming easier, thought Gellert.

Later, he told himself that he wanted to tell Albus why he did it, why his actions were justified, but simply couldn’t find the right words in his exhausted state. Or perhaps lying to himself had become as second nature as lying to everyone else.

-*-*-

**December 1, 1903**

**St. Mungo’s Hospital**

Gellert was supremely bored despite his endless stream of visitors. Albus kept him company for several hours every day, mostly after his classes were finished. Half of the Auror Office visited, some out of concern, many out of curiosity after hearing about his remarkable expulsion of the Obscurus. Even Minister-elect Venusia Crickerly, who had until recently worked in the Auror Office, paid him a visit to officially commend his actions in Skye.

His mentor Isadora Crouch visited on the third day; he confided in her about his use of Fiendfyre, for which she congratulated him. His closest friends in the department, Georgina, Macmillan, and Black, each visited him several times; Black even offered to smuggle him out, which was an offer Gellert later regretted declining, even if Albus would have marched him right back to St. Mungo’s. Also, his bedside table was beginning to resemble a sweet shop, much to Albus’s delight.

Healer Abbott was one of his last visitors before discharge. Gellert recognized the man immediately; he was the same Healer who visited Albus in Godric’s Hollow during his Acromantula poisoning.

“Mr. Grindelwald, we meet again,” the older man greeted him with a pleasant smile. “I am glad to hear that you have made a full recovery. I hoped to catch you before you were discharged.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” asked Gellert, curious.

“I am looking after the young boy you saved,” explained Healer Abbott. “The poor lad gave us a first name, John. Claims he does not know his family name, so we suspect he was abducted as a newborn by MacLeod and his disciples.” His lips thinned. “He said little about his abductors except that he would be severely beaten and starved whenever he manifested any kind of magic. It sounds like these men were very methodical in what they were doing, so his becoming an Obscurial was likely intended.”

Gellert nodded in acknowledgement. Privately, he felt even more righteous about his decision not to spare the Dark wizards.

“As you know, Mr. Grindelwald,” continued the Healer, “the Obscurus is fully separated from the boy—an incredible feat that we have never seen before.” He paused thoughtfully. “Your colleague Macmillan provided a statement to me. He told me about the spell you used, which I understand is one of your own creation.” The Healer looked very impressed. “Absolutely remarkable! You have an exceptional gift for Healing magic.”

“Will the boy be normal now?” asked Gellert.

“I cannot be sure,” admitted Healer Abbott. “No Obscurial has ever been cured before. I think we need to be cautious with any assumptions. If the boy—John—continues to feel isolated and repress his magic, it is possible that he may develop another Obscurus. We hope to make him feel accepted here and, in time, hope that he learns to accept his own magical abilities to prevent such a thing from recurring.”

The Healer’s guess was as good as any. While Gellert had been curious as to whether an Obscurus can be preserved and weaponized, and the latter disappointingly did not seem to be possible without a corporeal host based on his research, he had never thought or cared about what would happen to the human host afterwards. Except maybe Ariana, but that had been for Albus’s sake.

“I am glad he is looked after,” he said briskly. “But I am guessing you didn’t come here just to update me about the boy.”

Healer Abbott smiled. “I want to talk to you about your spell. If I may be so bold, I had hoped you would teach me and the other Healers in my department.”

“It is still… experimental,” said Gellert reluctantly. “I am working on writing it up as a paper.” He briefly explained his Regeneration Charm to the Healer, his previous experiments with healing various animal subjects, and his theory about its connection to the Patronus Charm. Aside from Albus, he rarely spoke to anyone at length about his intellectual hobbies; it was actually quite nice, and Healer Abbott seemed to keep pace.

“This phoenix you speak of—Fawkes,” said the Healer in awe when he was finished. “He was domesticated by your friend, Albus Dumbledore? How extraordinary and rare! Of course, we who study the healing arts have always known about the healing power of phoenixes, but we have never been able to study them at length. Very few phoenixes have ever consented to any type of contact with humans, let alone the prolonged contact you have had with this Fawkes.”

“Well, it hasn’t been smooth,” he said with a slight scowl. “Fawkes is quite temperamental. Not to mention, phoenix tears evaporate quickly, making them difficult to study even though I had access to a phoenix. And conjuring them is… overly taxing, as you can see.” He gestured to himself.

The Healer nodded absently. “Now, the extra requirement of this spell,” he persisted, “is when you alluded to the Patronus Charm. A happy thought—”

“Not quite,” corrected Gellert. “You need something stronger than a happy thought.”

“What is stronger?” asked Abbott.

Gellert hesitated. “I am not sure, exactly,” he said evasively. “I had to think about… well, basically the sense of deep affection I felt for another. The stronger the affection, the better the charm works.”

“A deep affection…” repeated the Healer questioningly.

“Yes.”

The older man smiled. “You mean love.”

“I—don’t—” He was not fond of talking about feelings, not even with Albus, let alone with a practical stranger. “I don’t know. Yes—maybe.”

The Healer was silent for several moments, contemplating his words. 

“This charm is immensely powerful—it can heal, it can drive away an Obscurus, it is like a sister to the Patronus,” he mused. “But it demands the caster to possess a great power—the ability to love. Incredible. Incredible… yet it all makes sense. There is one fundamental principle has stood at the core of Healing magic since the very beginning—that only love can truly heal the soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part III ended up being quite long; I split it into two parts - this is the first part. I willingly admit that writing OCs is not my strong suit... so none of them will be particularly crucial to the storyline. The focus is on Albus/Gellert. That being said, I borrowed a few Sacred Twenty-Eight names, and Phineas Black (the disowned son of Phineas Nigellus Black) belongs entirely to JK Rowling.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and appreciate any feedback.


	4. Part IIIb - The Darkest Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop overreacting!” hissed Gellert. How dare the other man accuse him of faithlessness when it was Albus who distanced himself from Gellert first, always finding fault with everything he said and did.

**February 16, 1905**

**Hogwarts Castle**

Augustine Bulstrode glared defiantly at Albus, arms crossed and nose turned upwards.

“Mr. Bulstrode,” he said sternly to his burly fifth year student, “at Hogwarts, we do not tolerate violence towards other students for any reason.”

“With all due respect, Professor, filthy Mudbloods deserve to be punished,” retorted the boy boldly.

Albus met his glare evenly. “Very well,” he said calmly. “It is clear that you do not accept the wrongness of your actions, nor do you feel remorse for injuring your classmate. For the use of a derogatory name for Muggle-borns, fifty points will be taken from Slytherin.”

Bulstrode scowled.

“As for your actions against Mr. Wigglesworth,” continued Albus, “you will serve detention with me every Monday and Wednesday evening until you have written to my satisfaction 5000 words on why Muggle-born witches and wizards are important to the Wizarding world. You will also apologize to Mr. Wigglesworth in the hospital wing when you leave my office.”

The boy was silent, his expression mutinous.

“If you fail to comply with any aspect of your punishment, I will recommend your suspension to the Headmaster for the remainder of the term. Pending review, you may be permitted to return in the new school year, but you will repeat your fifth year.”

A long silence followed. Albus waited patiently.

“Yes, sir,” replied Bulstrode at last, teeth gritted. “But you are wrong. What I am doing is for the Greater Good.”

Albus felt a spark of annoyance at his last words. Mr. Bulstrode was not the first student to quote the Greater Good to him in the last few months. Just before Christmas, he and Gellert wrote a piece on their ideology of uniting the magical and non-magical worlds, which they titled ‘For the Greater Good.’ The piece was picked up by the Daily Prophet. Much like a snowball effect, the essay grew increasingly popular among young readers over the last few months. By now, it seemed all of Great Britain had read their article.

He had been quite pleased in the beginning. Students stayed behind after class for political and social discussion. Those were some fascinating discourses. Many of his students also wrote to Gellert.

However, he noticed a disturbing pattern lately. Some students seem to have developed a very worrying interpretation of the Greater Good. In recent weeks, a few have used the phrase as justification for acts of bullying and exploitation. Albus did not like this development at all.

“Your unprovoked attack on a fellow wizard in no way contributes to the Greater Good,” he admonished firmly.

“Muggle-borns are not real wizards,” insisted Bulstrode. “Others agree with me.” His tone was unrepentant. “The Muggles are clearly inferior to us, so why should they rule over us while we hide? You even said so yourself.”

“You have severely misinterpreted my Daily Prophet article, Mr. Bulstrode,” he said, voice stern. “I suggest that you spend some time reflecting on your actions. I will not tolerate any further offenses.”

Bulstrode shrugged insolently. “Am I dismissed, Professor?”

Long after the boy left, Albus found himself unable to push the encounter out of his mind. Words were powerful, far more powerful than he ever imagined, and those were _their_ words and therefore, their responsibility.

-*-*-

**February 16, 1905**

**The Red House, Hogsmeade**

Albus was snuggled comfortably next to Gellert, running his fingers across the smooth and firmly muscled stomach. After all these years, he could not get over just how beautiful this man was. His physical beauty was only outmatched by his keen mind. There were still days when Albus woke up, half panicking and half expecting that he dreamed this perfect being into existence, or that he somehow managed to step inside the Mirror of Erised and take permanent residence.

A different worry also nagged at him tonight. He felt uneasy since his meeting with young Mr. Bulstrode, the details of which he now relayed to Gellert. A long silence ensued.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Albus,” replied Gellert lazily.

“Well, I am worried,” he insisted.

Gellert’s shoulders twitched in a half shrug. “It’s just one student,” he said, seemingly unbothered.

Albus frowned and raised his head to look at his partner. “No, that’s just it. He wasn’t the first.”

“I think you worry too much,” said Gellert, sounding far too unperturbed for his liking.

“How can you say that?” Albus pulled away, annoyed by the apparent lack of concern. “We wrote that article, Gellert. We are responsible for actions committed in the name of our ideology!”

Gellert sighed. “They are just kids, Albus. You are overreacting.”

“You may not care about innocent victims, but I do,” replied Albus coldly.

To both of their displeasure, they slept separately that night for the first time in years. While alone, Albus wondered whether this difference always existed between them, and why he only noticed it now. But the logical side of him whispered nastily that he had always known. Gellert was… well, many things, and he loved him for most of his qualities. But some part of him always knew that Gellert did not care for people in the same way; of course, Gellert was fond of certain people—Albus, for one, and even his colleagues from the Ministry—and he viewed other people as useful or of value, even some Muggles, but he never possessed a natural love for humanity, nor believed that every person had intrinsic value simply for being.

A few days later, it was Gellert who broke their stalemate. He apologized for his callousness. He was always great at apologizing, because he always seemed sincere. The secret was that he always _was_ sincere—even allowing himself to believe that he really meant it, every time. What he hid well was how scared he was, how much he feared rejection from Albus. To avoid the pain of that rejection, a pain from which he was not sure he would recover, he was capable of saying anything, believing anything.

And so he promised Albus that they would speak to their readers and followers more carefully from then on, that they would take on the Greater Good not just as a future goal, but as a responsibility. He promised accountability for actions committed in the name of their ideology. It was everything that Albus wanted to hear.

That was his greatest gift. He could see into the hearts of others and knew what they wanted to hear. To Phineas Black, he was always more casual about promoting violent suppression where necessary; the former Slytherin was utterly dogmatic about fairness and equality, going as far as to advocate for Muggle rights, which embarrassed his family greatly, but he was also a man who believed in the necessity of firm actions to accomplish noble goals. To Georgina, Gellert’s approach was different; she did not enjoy violence of any kind, even in the line of duty, so Gellert always made sure to appeal to her compassionate nature. Macmillan was a practical man who believed in strong leadership, so Gellert made sure to play that role for him. Albus, he knew the best out of anyone in the world, and Albus always saw the best in him.

We accept the truths we want to believe. And they wanted to believe that all was well between the two of them. And thus, it continued. The cracks would appear, Gellert would apologize, and Albus would accept. On and on until the distance between them grew without either really noticing.

-*-*-

**September 23, 1907**

**Diagon Alley**

“Hello, Albus!”

Shifting the stack of books in his arms, he turned his head at the familiar voice. Immediately, Albus recognized Phineas Black and Georgina Hale walking towards him. He nodded politely.

“Belated congratulations on Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup this year,” said Phineas. “My father has not stopped moaning about it.”

His father, Phineas Nigellus Black, was also a professor at Hogwarts and the head of Slytherin House, although he and Albus were not close.

“Technically, as a professor, I am completely neutral,” he replied with a wink.

“But you wore Gryffindor socks under your robes, didn’t you?” Georgina smirked.

“Only socks?” he asked, tutting. “How tame.”

They all chuckled. 

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” said Georgina after they gathered themselves. “I keep telling Gellert that we should go out for dinner together. I can’t even remember the last time!”

Albus frowned. Neither could he. In fact, he had been so busy with teaching and his research with Flamel that he could not remember the last time he and Gellert did something together outside of their Hogsmeade house. If anything, Gellert was also busier than ever, frequently coming home after Albus had gone to bed and leaving before he woke up the next day. 

“Perhaps soon,” he replied rather noncommittally. He had no idea what to tell Georgina, since he barely saw his increasingly absent roommate.

-*-*-

**February 3, 1908**

**The Red House, Hogsmeade**

Gellert needed the indulgence of a warm bath. He was tired. The warm water and the enchanted bubbles were so relaxing. He could fall asleep here.

After a few minutes, there was a soft creaking noise as the door to the bathroom opened. Albus leaned against the doorframe, expression unreadable.

Not all that long ago, Gellert would have given Albus one of his famous smiles and invited his lover to join him in the bathtub. Instead—

“I thought you had gone to bed,” he said.

Albus gave him a small frown. “Where have you been?”

“Work,” he replied.

It was partially the truth. He had taken Theseus Scamander, a recent graduate from Hogwarts and one of the new Aurors-in-training, to raid an elderly witch’s home for stolen magical artifacts. The old woman had amassed an impressive collection; logging the stolen objects had taken longer than usual. But when they finally finished and he sent Scamander home, he decided to take supper in the office to continue looking for leads on the Elder Wand.

“Working with whom?” asked Albus.

Gellert felt a spike of annoyance. “Theseus Scamander. I suppose you know him. One of your former students, is he not?”

Albus folded his arms. “Scamander,” he repeated evenly, but Gellert could feel the discontent rolling off of him.

“Why don’t you just ask what we both know you want to ask?” said Gellert impatiently. “Then I can explain to you for the hundredth time that Scamander has no interest in me aside from mentorship. Macmillan is happily married. Georgina still prefers women. Oh, and Phineas is mooning over our Squib cleaning girl. Who else? Right, the new male secretary? Not sure if he’s even of legal age. Madam Crouch’s niece? The Head of the Department of Magical Transportation? Which other witch or wizard am I supposed to have slept with recently?”

“Your words, not mine,” snapped Albus.

“I decided to work late,” continued Gellert furiously, “because of _this_.” He gestured between the two of them. “Every time I am here, you are accusing me of something!”

“Oh, I am the unreasonable one?” asked Albus disbelievingly. “Unlike you, I am not coming home at midnight every day and leaving at the crack of dawn. Your excuses are getting worse.”

Gellert stepped out of the bathtub angrily, wrapping a towel around his waist. He stood nose-to-nose with Albus.

“Stop overreacting!” hissed Gellert. How dare the other man accuse him of faithlessness when it was Albus who distanced himself from Gellert first, always finding fault with everything he said and did.

Albus took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.

“Excuse me,” he said in a cold, aloof tone. “I’ve just remembered that I have a lot of _work_ tomorrow.” He threw the word in Gellert’s face. “We have a new hire in the Transfiguration department, a brilliant witch named Minerva McGonagall. Perhaps you know her? She used to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It may take some time for her to get settled in, so I’ll be spending the next few nights at Hogwarts.”

As he left, he did not look back to catch the other man’s distraught expression.

(Later, Gellert would apologize, as he always did. But this time, something seemed different. Perhaps it was because he could no longer pretend that he was truly sorry, or perhaps Albus was tired of pretending to understand. But nevertheless, they closed their eyes and moved on.)

-*-*-

**December 21, 1908**

**The Three Broomsticks Inn, Hogsmeade**

It all started when he made the questionable decision to send his young apprentice on his first solo mission. While Theseus was talented, possibly the most talented in his training cohort, he was not yet a qualified Auror. Gellert would not have risked it if they had not been so horrendously short-handed after recent retirements and Crouch’s promotion to Head of the office. Furthermore, the approaching Christmas holidays seemed to have only bolstered Dark wizard activity.

The mission was supposed to be straightforward.

In fact, Gellert assigned himself the more outwardly dangerous task of bringing in a savage sorceress who was on a rampage of razing homes and livestock near Belfast. She had allegedly taken at least fifteen lives.

At the same time, a little-known wizard by the name of Burke was reportedly selling cursed and stolen artifacts to schoolchildren out of Hogsmeade. This resulted in several students developing extra tentacles or becoming unable to speak anything except their own names—all rather disturbing but easily reversed by their professors. Nevertheless, a few parents got wind of this and were demanding immediate action to be taken. It was Albus who forwarded the case to the Auror Office. 

Before he set off for Northern Ireland, he ordered Scamander to apprehend Burke, a task his younger colleague was rather eager to accept. He had faced worse than greedy artifact dealers before, although not on his own.

By the time Gellert subdued the wayward sorceress and handed her off to Azkaban to await trial, he expected that Theseus had already arrested Burke. For that reason, he was caught by surprise when his pocket watch flashed scorching hot against his chest. It was the Auror distress signal, an idea he devised, where each of them owned a pocket watch that was linked to another by the Protean Charm. When help was needed, the watch would radiate heat and the inscription would display a location. 

A second after he read the fresh inscription, Gellert Apparated immediately to the street outside Three Broomsticks. In the same moment, the door to the pub opened and Theseus stumbled forward. Gellert caught him before he fell. Even standing outside the establishment, the destruction within did not go unnoticed by Gellert; the building seemed to be teetering on the verge of collapse, as pieces of cracked stone and wood littered the street. The sound of glass crunching echoed beneath his feet. He could only imagine what the inn looked like from the inside. He could hardly believe that this was the work of one greedy salesman; their intel must have been very wrong.

Theseus was very pale, clutching his abdomen. A rather copious amount of blood spilled onto Gellert as he attempted to staunch the blood loss with manual pressure; the gash was deep and needed immediate attention. He had his wand out, ready to perform his Regeneration Charm, when Scamander grabbed his arm.

“Wait, don’t,” he hissed. He pointed a shaking finger towards the door. “Burke—he’s still inside.” 

Gellert paused. Performing the spell would weaken him before a confrontation. On the other hand, Theseus would surely bleed out if they delayed much longer.

The younger man gripped his hand. “You need to stop him,” he said resolutely. “I have him trapped—Anti-Disapparition Jinx, and—doesn’t matter—he can’t leave right now. There’s something else, his wand—”

“I need to take you to St. Mungo’s first,” interrupted Gellert. “Will your spells hold him for a few minutes?”

Theseus nodded weakly, as Gellert Apparated both of them to the reception area of St. Mungo’s.

“Get Healer Abbott immediately,” he barked at the receptionist, who rushed off.

Another Healer in the waiting area came over to support Theseus. Gellert extracted himself once the Healer was comfortably supporting Theseus’s weight and applying pressure to the wound.

“I will deal with Burke,” he said to Scamander.

“Be careful,” whispered Theseus, whose face was growing alarmingly pale. “His wand—I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so… powerful, but Burke couldn’t control it at all.” He half-wheezed and half-snorted before wincing in pain. “His pig face just had this confused look. He had no idea what to do. The wand had its own mind or something—blew up everything in sight.”

For a moment, Gellert was not sure he heard correctly. His stomach somersaulted in a mix of excitement and anticipation. Scamander’s injuries were temporarily forgotten. Could this be it? He could scarcely believe his luck. After years of investigation turning up no trace of the wand, he now had an irrefutable lead when he was not even searching for the wand. It was almost too good to be true, especially if Scamander had truly trapped his attacker... Gellert could _not_ pass up this opportunity. His heart thumped eagerly at the thought of the Elder Wand within his reach once more. 

He did not wait for Healer Abbott to arrive. Without another word or another moment’s delay, he Disapparated. He would not allow the wand to escape his grasp a second time.

When he stepped into the Three Broomsticks, it was immediately apparent that Theseus had not exaggerated. The establishment was nearly destroyed, with wood, glass, and stone strewn across the pub. Scorch marks lined the walls and floor.

In fact, he was surprised that Scamander had survived this level of destruction. Not only that, the younger man had done well. Very well. A circumferential wall of ice surrounded a stout man in brown robes, whose pig-like face and mousy tuft of brown hair were all too familiar to Gellert. He also recognized the wand held in the man’s grubby hand. There was no mistaking the unique appearance of the Elder Wand, even after all this time. 

Burke registered no recognition when he saw Gellert, who had been disguised when they met in Switzerland more than eight years ago. He wore a twisted expression of concentration, still attempting to Apparate out of Scamander’s trap.

“It will not work for you,” said Gellert with a contemptuous smile, gesturing to Burke’s wand. As he approached the other man, he vanished Scamander’s wall of ice with a wordless flick of his hand.

Burke’s pig-like face sneered in response. “Auror, I would be careful if I were you,” he threatened, brandishing his wand with brazen confidence. “Or you will go the same way as that foolish boy.”

“I think he got the better of you,” taunted Gellert, circling his heedless foe. “What’s wrong? Are you trapped?” He smirked. “You have an unbeatable wand, and you can’t even Disapparate with it? Or better yet, why not stand and fight, coward?”

His goading seemed to work. His opponent’s eyes flashed with anger.

“You cannot defeat me as long as I have this,” hissed Burke, pointing his wand at Gellert’s head.

Gellert smiled even wider. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” He might actually enjoy this. 

The other man was still unimpressed. “Let me guess: an over-confident and under-prepared Auror?” he snapped. “Take a look around you! You should not have come alone.”

“You really don’t remember?” continued Gellert pleasantly. He waved his wand again, briefly taking on his previous disguise with black hair, tanned skin, and brown eyes. To his satisfaction, Burke visibly flinched at the new appearance. With another flick of his hand, he resumed his normal appearance.

After a moment, Burke recovered his composure. “Ah, pity!” he said in a snide tone. “I _do_ remember you. Switzerland, was it? But as they say—finders keepers. I _did_ wonder… Did you manage to find a grave to bury your little friend?”

At the mention of Albus, Gellert’s smile slipped and his jaw tightened. Suddenly, the memory of those miserable weeks of his futile battle with the Acromantula poison seemed as fresh as yesterday. Burke had made a grave error. Any ounce of mercy evaporated from his mind.

“You are going to pay for that today,” he promised with malice in his voice. “This time, your minions are not here to help you escape.”

Burke laughed callously. “Oh, that is no loss,” he said without a hint of regret. “I dispatched them years ago.”

Gellert raised an eyebrow but was not entirely surprised. After all, the Elder Wand was meant to be mastered by one, not shared between six selfish men.

“They wanted the wand,” explained Burke unnecessarily. “But_ I_ was too powerful for them.” His sneering arrogance was beginning to grate on Gellert’s patience; this conversation was becoming wearisome, and Scamander’s Anti-Disapparition Jinx would not last forever.

“You are truly a fool,” spat Gellert. “The _wand _is powerful. And unpredictable and wild. Because you have not mastered it. Do you not feel it? The wand rejects you.” 

Burke’s face turned red and became twisted with fury. “Lies,” he countered. “All lies.” The Elder Wand slashed through the air as he gesticulated angrily.

Gellert noticed with satisfaction that the wand did not set off in spite of Burke’s careless waving. Perhaps the wand sensed the presence of its true master.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” he challenged. “Perhaps you do not remember, but I Stunned Gregorovitch that night, winning the wand’s allegiance. That is why it refuses to obey you. If you try to attack me with it, it will only work against you.” 

Burke sputtered in indignation and disbelief. “Impossible!” he roared, livid. “I stole the wand. It is _mine_.”

“Then try to attack me with it,” said Gellert boldly. He spread his arms in invitation, letting his own wand dangle carelessly in the direction of the floor. “Go ahead. Unless you are scared. Is that why you’ve been living like a rat, selling trinkets to children?”

The other man bristled. “How dare you suggest—”

“If you’re scared, just walk over and hand me the wand,” he taunted.

Burke was enraged, his pig-like face beet red and spittle flying as he screamed. “_STUP_—”

Gellert laughed, cutting him off. “Still scared, I see.” 

He was not going to let Burke off this easily. A Stunning Spell may backfire on the man and give him the wand in one efficient maneuver, but that was too generous for the man who caused Albus so much suffering—the man who stole what rightfully belonged to Gellert.

“Not so shy last time,” he mocked the other man. “Are you too scared to show me your best Killing Curse? Afraid you can’t do it with the best wand in the world?”

The bait worked.

“_AVADA KEDAVRA!_”

As soon as Burke screamed the curse, a deafening bang echoed through the Three Broomsticks, probably heard by all of Hogsmeade. The man was blasted off his feet, the Killing Curse he directed at Gellert shooting backwards to hit him full in the face. He was dead before his body hit the stone floor with a crunch.

Although Gellert had expected it, he still felt a rush of delight and righteous pride at the sight of the most powerful wand in the world choosing him without a shadow of doubt. As one of the most gifted wizards of his generation, he was used to feeling powerful. But right now, in this moment, he felt _invincible_.

Gellert strolled casually across the carnage. He stepped over Burke’s limp body to pick up the discarded Elder Wand. 

The moment it touched his hand, he knew at once. The wand seemed to embrace him, its true master, as a warm wave swept over him. _I am yours_, it seemed to say. He basked in the euphoria for a few moments, as he stood alone in the wreckage, simply admiring the extraordinary weapon.

Burke was gone, an insignificant death he can easily explain away. Technically, he had not raised a hand against the man; a simple _Priori Incantatem_ on his regular wand would exonerate him. He would report Burke’s wand as destroyed in the fight, an unfortunate outcome due to the man’s own hubris. Only Theseus knew about the wand, and even then, his young colleague did not know its true nature; moreover, Theseus trusted him and would have no reason to doubt his word that the wand had been destroyed. He could easily disguise the Elder Wand to look like his own. No one would ever know what happened here.

Except Albus. His elation faded slightly. Of course, he would tell Albus, despite how frayed their relationship had become. He just needed to figure out how. He was not going to lie, he decided, but Albus was too full of the milk of human kindness… He could spare him some of the details.

Yes, he vowed, he would tell Albus. But there was no rush.

At last, the Elder Wand was _his_ and his _alone_.

-*-*-

_The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins._

_It always wins because it is everywhere._

_It is in the wood that burns in your hearth, and in the kettle on the fire; it is under your chair and under your table and under the sheets on your bed. Walk in the midday sun, and the dark is with you, attached to the soles of your feet._

_The brightest light casts the darkest shadow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on the timeline:
> 
> The anal retentive part of me gets so worked up (for no reason) about the confusing HP and FB timelines. Newt is supposed to be born in February 1897, and Theseus is supposed to be eight years his senior, so I've placed Theseus's birthday circa 1888. Which he means his last year at Hogwarts would be 1905-1906. We know that he was a WWI hero and an Auror; assuming he entered Auror training directly after Hogwarts and took the same amount of time as Tonks (~3 years), then he would be midst training during the time period of this chapter.
> 
> As for the tiny reference to McGonagall... this one used to do my head in. In FBtCoG, she is present in Leta's flashback, so she was around when Leta was at school - but this makes her a lot older than she was supposed to be in the HP series. She should still be younger than Dumbledore, so I don't think she started teaching much earlier than the Leta/Newt cohort. Therefore, I dated her as starting her teaching career in 1908 (Newt and Leta are first years in September 1908).
> 
> Okay, enough of my OCD.
> 
> So Gellert had the Elder Wand. Things are starting to fall apart. The thing about secrets, Gellert...
> 
> (Thank you to everyone who has read this story, or given Kudos, or written feedback! It means a lot, and I am super grateful.)


	5. Part IVa - The Last Thing I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was as if the truth that he refused to accept for so long was now laid bare for all to see; maybe he had made himself sick, trying all these years to be—no, _pretending_ to be—a man who was good enough for Albus Dumbledore.
> 
> All of the selfishness, the ruthlessness, the desire for more power—that was all him, the unapologetic true version of Gellert Grindelwald. He was meant to be a great man, but not a good man.
> 
> Then he met Albus, and he felt something he had never felt before. Somewhere along the way, he thought he could be different. Because of the way Albus looked at him: like Gellert was responsible for the warmth of the sun, or the stars in the night sky.

**January 11, 1909**

**Hogwarts Castle**

Career Week was one of the most important events in a Hogwarts student’s seventh year, perhaps secondary only to the N.E.W.Ts. During this week, seventh year classes were visited by representatives from nearly every office of the Ministry of Magic, proprietors of several businesses from hospitality to menageries, Healers from St. Mungo’s, managers of Quidditch teams, and more. Professors were interviewed about their students’ skills in particular fields. For some lucky students, conditional job offers may even be made. (In fact, Albus set the record for number of job offers received with forty-nine in his seventh year.)

As the Defense Against the Dart Arts professor, Albus received the most delegates from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Today, his students were demonstrating their duelling skills to representatives from the Auror Office.

Madam Crouch, Theseus Scamander, and Albus watched as a slim Ravenclaw female battled a rather burly Slytherin male. He advanced aggressively towards her, flinging offensive spells one after another with impressive ferocity. She was being backed towards a corner but holding tentatively with her own Shield Charm. Then, just as her opponent was almost close enough for physical contact, she went on the offensive with a Stunning Spell. It was not a particularly powerful attack, and her opponent deflected it easily, laughing in her face. His laughter suddenly died when she kicked her right foot firmly into his groin with surprising swiftness. The Slytherin boy groaned in agony as he doubled over. Without hesitating, she Stunned him, this time knocking him out cold. She turned and bowed to her three observers. Several classmates clapped, while most of the Slytherins hissed at her.

Madam Crouch nodded approvingly, but Albus noticed that Theseus remained impassive.

Albus approached his Slytherin student. “_Rennervate_.” The young man opened his eyes, wincing as he tried to sit. Albus placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and muttered a quick Healing spell.

The boy glared at his opponent, who stood tall in her small frame. “Filthy cheating Mudblood.”

“Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Nott,” admonished Albus. “You should know by now that we do not permit the use of that word.”

Ever since Professor Black replaced Scrimgeour as Headmaster, a number of Slytherin students freely adopted derogatory terms for Muggle-borns. Of course, any complaints to Headmaster Black seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Nott shrugged with indifference. “Yes, sir,” he said sullenly. 

“On that point,” continued Albus, “you would do well to remember the rules of duelling. While certain methods are… unconventional, physical contact _is_ permitted.”

“I would go as far as to say that there is no such thing as fair fight in our profession,” interjected Crouch. She turned to the Ravenclaw girl. “What we cannot overpower, we must outthink. I applaud you for your resourcefulness. What is your name, child?”

“Imogen Williams, ma’am,” she replied.

“And your parents are Muggles?” inquired Crouch.

The girl’s proud posture faltered a little. “Yes, ma’am,” she said in a smaller voice.

A few of the Slytherins exchanged gloating smiles. Crouch ignored them.

“You must have adapted well to the shortcomings of your birth,” she said, not noticing Albus’s frown at her implication that Muggle-borns were naturally disadvantaged. “Handling adversity is a cornerstone to an Auror’s strength, Miss Williams. We would welcome your application should you wish to seek a career in our office.”

Imogen Williams blushed but nodded. “I do, ma’am. Thank you.” 

They swapped out pairs to continue the assessment. Theseus made notes on several students, while Crouch looked largely unimpressed.

“How are you, Theseus?” Albus asked his former student as the last pair of duellists took the stage.

He knew that the young man had only recently recovered from an incident in December. He recalled that Gellert seemed unnaturally concerned for nearly a week after the event, becoming even more distant than his usual self; Albus had chalked it up to concern over Scamander’s condition. Therefore, he had been pleasantly surprised this morning to see his former pupil accompanying Head Auror Crouch in apparent good health.

“Quite well, Professor, although I am glad to be back on my feet,” replied Theseus warmly. “I was only just cleared for active duty, thank Merlin. Slept through the entire holidays and missed our last gathering too. Will I see you at the next one?”

Albus gave him a thin smile that did not reach his eyes. “I’ve been rather busy.”

Theseus nodded with an understanding look, but Albus’s chest twisted uncomfortably.

In the four years since the publication of their highly discussed ‘For the Greater Good’ piece, their ideology gained momentum at an impressive pace in the Wizarding community. What started out as small casual meetings in cafés with witches and wizards interested in discussing magical-Muggle relations slowly blossomed into larger and larger gatherings, until he and Gellert resorted to borrowing the auditorium at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts.

The Daily Prophet gave their patrons various names—the “Acolytes” or sometimes the “Order.” He and Gellert never agreed on a name, but they did have a callsign—something Albus accidentally started. After he met Gellert, he started signing his name using the Hallows symbol to replace the A in Albus, which cemented into habit over the years. When Phineas Black noticed this in the course of their correspondences about Muggles’ rights, he thought it was a nice image to represent their kinship in ideology. Over time, the Hallows symbol was adopted by their friends and followers, like a secret handshake to denote solidarity.

At these gatherings, he and Gellert were more united than they were at home, even if Albus frequently took a more moderate approach while Gellert tended to incite more passion. Their supporters were a diverse bunch—from a number of fairly distinguished Ministry employees to some of Albus’s more eccentric former students. Albus appreciated the heterogeneity of their patrons, both for the vindication that their message appealed to many walks of life and for the balance it ensured within the group so that no single faction emerged to dominate the conversation. 

Nevertheless, they did have an unintentional inner circle, a motley crew consisting of some of Gellert’s and Albus’s closest friends: Phineas Black, Dougal Macmillan, Georgina Hale, Theseus Scamander, Elphias Doge, and a recent addition—Minerva McGonagall.

Albus had shared some of his school years with Black, Macmillan, and Georgina, although none of them were in his year nor in Gryffindor House with him (as they were in Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw respectively). He had no particular objections to their characters; in fact, he had a lot of respect and affection for Phineas, who was as unlike Professor Black as one could imagine, even if he preferred more heavy-handed tactics against his enemies (Albus would not soon forget some of Phineas’s more devious tactics during their Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch rivalry). He knew Macmillan the least, but the man was disciplined and undeniably loyal to Gellert akin to a brother in arms (which did not surprise Albus, since Aurors were not unlike soldiers sent to the battlefield together). Georgina was not to be trifled with but also unmistakably kind, and she was, if Albus had to guess—like himself, a moderating influence on Gellert. He could always count on Theseus, Elphias, and Minerva to keep him grounded, as their mere presence reminded him that he was first and foremost a teacher and that they were working towards a better world for the young wizards and witches of tomorrow.

However, in moments of quiet reflection, he would realize just how much influence he and Gellert had. Sure, both were still years away from their thirtieth birthdays and neither could be described as an established politician, but people were drawn to them like moths to the flame. Between Albus’s sincerity, Gellert’s blunt charm, and their shared intellect, they attracted the masses in droves. Even now, they were already in positions of rising authority: the talented and popular professor beloved by his students and the brave unflappable warrior slated to be the next Head of the Auror Office.

Albus could not deny that it was an exhilarating position. This was what he always wanted: he and Gellert reshaping the Wizarding world for the Greater Good. Together.

But on some days, he woke up with his heart clenching painfully. During those moments, he could not set aside the image of young Mr. Bulstrode tormenting the Muggle-born student. Or the rhetoric of certain wizards who cited their ideology in the name of promoting Muggle extermination. Or the fact that Gellert would verbally refute the notion that Muggle persecution could ever be part of their plans, but his tone was always nonchalant and half-hearted, nor did he ever deny that he thought himself superior to the non-magical. 

Years ago, Albus may have thought himself superior as well. But becoming a teacher made him realize the folly of rating himself above others, for the true gift was in learning from others—_all_ others. He knew that Gellert did not believe they could learn much from the Muggles.

Despite their differences, Albus was still caught by surprise by the presence of several unsavoury personalities at the last gathering he attended, including one of the Rosiers who was expelled from Hogwarts before Albus’s time for mutilating several Muggles and Elladora Black, Phineas’s aunt and a pure-blood elitist renowned for beheading house-elves. While they always had a diversity of patrons, extremists who preached blood purity or the complete eradication of Muggles were never among those in attendance. When Albus told them in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome to promote hateful views at their venue, he was infuriated when Gellert waved him aside to remind him that everyone was welcome to be part of their movement and that “_simple discussion and words are not dangerous_.”

That was four months ago, and he had not attended another meeting since. Gellert did apologize—oh, he was always talented at that—and promised that he did not share the opinions of Rosier or Elladora Black. Albus forgave him, as he always did, but they continued to be increasingly at odds with each other. Where previously there had been such an _ease_ to their relationship, now it was difficult to perform the most basic communication without some kind of misunderstanding.

He still loved Gellert, and it saddened him to realize how distant they had grown. Scamander’s casual question reminded him of their distance. Lately, Gellert spent more time with Fawkes than with him, an impressive feat given the mutual dislike between his lover and his beloved pet. He could not pinpoint what exactly had changed between them, or which one of them changed. But he needed to fix this distance between them, he resolved, because neither of them could live like this for much longer.

“Professor?”

Theseus wore a concerned expression on his face. Albus had been lost in his melancholic thoughts for too long. The final pair of duellists were finished, and his students were packing their bags.

“My apologies,” he said ruefully. “It has been a long day.”

“I think that is it for us,” said Theseus sympathetically. “I should complete my notes.” He turned to Crouch. “With your permission, ma’am, I would like to stay a little longer and will not accompany you back to the Ministry. You will have my notes on your desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Very well,” said Crouch, still looking indifferent, “although you will forgive my lack of enthusiasm for reviewing your notes. Do you still have friends here, Scamander?” 

Theseus smiled fondly. “My little brother, Newt. Terrible little rascal.”

Albus smiled too. “A most precocious first year,” he agreed.

“If he has any semblance of his brother’s talent, we ought to keep an eye on him,” said Crouch, interest piqued.

“Oh, talent is not his problem,” said Theseus. He and Albus shared an amused, knowing look.

“On the other hand, his ability to follow rules and behave himself…” Albus trailed off with a grin, as Theseus chuckled.

Crouch sighed and shook her head. “A pity, then,” she lamented. “Well, I shall be off.”

Albus politely offered to escort her out of the castle, leaving Theseus to finish his notes.

When they were alone, Crouch spoke again. “I am sure you are a fine teacher,” she began with a little frown, “but these students seem to be missing a… spark. They lack a certain _fierceness_, an _indomitable will_, if I may.”

“Those who choose to train as an Auror will develop these qualities,” he replied firmly. He had faith in his students. “Besides, I can attest that a spark exists in each one of them. Perhaps it takes more than one meeting to witness.”

“Perhaps,” said Crouch impatiently. “Yet today, only Miss Williams showed sufficient tenacity and shrewdness. A Muggle-born Ravenclaw, too!”

“I have never found blood status to be an indicator of ability,” Albus told her bluntly.

She waved a hand, dismissing his objection. “I believe Hogwarts is too soft on the students,” she continued. “My best Auror was not even trained at Hogwarts. You are a close friend of Mr. Grindelwald, if I recall correctly? If you ask me, Durmstrang is teaching their students correctly. None of this cowardly avoidance of the Dark Arts! How can you fight against something they don’t teach you properly?”

Albus stiffened at her careless implication. “One does not need to practice Dark Magic to take a stand against it. Or we risk being no better than Dark wizards.”

“Respectfully, I disagree,” argued Crouch. “You have not seen what we fight against, Mr. Dumbledore. Your friend Gellert understands this.”

Albus quashed the uncomfortable sensation in his stomach.

“He knows the importance of ruthlessness in the face of heinous opposition,” she said. “I have always taught him that the best weapon is not a weapon that strikes first, it is a weapon that only needs to strike once.”

“There are some weapons that should never be used,” he challenged. “Weapons that violate the unalienable rights of a person, such as the Unforgivable Curses.”

Crouch shakes her head, marvelling at his naivety. “The Dark and Light aspects of magic depend on our intentions. Dark wizards use them for nefarious purposes; we use them to bring justice. This is why Aurors are permitted to use Unforgivable Curses in the line of duty.”

“That is deplorable.”

Crouch is surprised by the strength of his condemnation. “We live in hard times,” she said harshly. “I am surprised, Mr. Dumbledore. Ask your friend Gellert how many times he has used Unforgivable Curses for the Greater G—” 

Albus rounded on her indignantly. “He would not—”

The Head of the Auror Office scoffed at his ignorance. “I can assure you he has. The best among us have always done whatever is necessary. And Gellert is particularly persuasive in getting confessions from the uncooperative. I have had the pleasure to witness his work personally.” Her mouth curved into a cold, satisfied smile. “His talent is undeniable; I have yet to see any shred of that in these Hogwarts students. I suppose Scamander shows the most potential from recent graduates, but even he is not quite on the same level. The rest don’t seem to have the stomach for real conflict.” 

He is barely listening to her; he is sure he has stopped breathing. No, she was mistaken. Gellert had his faults, but he would not—

She went on, not noticing his horror. “Gellert was always my brightest pupil.” She spoke as if they were casually comparing teaching skills. “When he came back from Portree—the mission that earned him his reputation, you must have read about it in the news, I could not believe that he, a newly qualified Auror at the time, eliminated five Dark wizards with such a controlled use of Fiendfyre while dealing with the Obscurial boy. A once in a generation talent, as you surely understand, having been labelled one yourself.”

_Eliminated_. She said _eliminated_. She was talking about murder. And Gellert had used Fiendfyre… a very advanced Dark Magic. He used Fiendfyre to _eliminate _five people, burning them alive. Of course, Albus remembered Portree; he had been so worried, and Gellert was in St. Mungo’s for a week after expelling the Obscurus. He never asked for specific details, but he knew that Gellert had received a special commendation from the Minister for Magic for exceptional bravery.

Albus did not want to believe it, but she had spoken so matter-of-factly, and she had no reason to lie about any of it. Still, his mind refused to believe. This is Gellert she was talking about. Yes, he was stubborn and proud, but Albus knew that he also cared and was capable of love and compassion. How can this be the same Gellert?

Also, Portree was more than five years ago. How long has Gellert been doing this? Indiscriminately using Unforgivable Curses and ‘eliminating’ foes as he pleased? No, Madam Crouch must be mistaken. He would have known if Gellert was capable of such deeds.

But even as he told himself this, Albus could not ignore the nagging doubt that started to eat away at him. Was he blinded by his affection for Gellert? So blinded that he could not see what the man was always capable of doing? He could not deny that Gellert was exceptionally charming, but also exceptionally manipulative. He saw it often in the way the other man spoke to their supporters and friends; his approach was never the same with each person, but rather tailored expertly to appeal to each individual. Why did Albus believe he was any less susceptible to Gellert’s manipulation? _Perhaps_, he thought bitterly, _I was the most susceptible of all_.

He had to know the truth; he needed to know right _now_.

His farewell to Madam Crouch was curt when they finally passed Hogwarts’ protective boundary, and his anguish went unnoticed by her as she Disapparated.

As soon as he was alone, Albus thought about how to confront Gellert. They kept such disparate schedules these days that Albus was not certain Gellert would return to their Hogsmeade home that night. Furthermore, he was unwilling to simply wait for their next serendipitous meeting. He needed answers as soon as possible.

In the end, he used a tracking spell. 

First, he tried to track Gellert’s wand. However, that led him to the bedside drawer in their deserted bedroom. Sure enough, he found Gellert’s wand inside the drawer, but its owner was nowhere in the house. Something dreadful settled in his stomach. _Why would Gellert ever leave the house without his wand?_ A dozen thoughts sprang to mind, but he ruthlessly pushed them away. He could not afford to speculate; from now on, he only wanted the facts.

Other than his wand, Albus knew there was only one other item that Gellert kept with him at all times.

-*-*-

**January 11, 1909**

**Somewhere in Southampton**

Gellert nearly jumped out of his skin at the faint popping sound of Apparition. The last thing he expected was for Albus to materialize directly before him.

“What are you doing here?” He gaped at the auburn-haired man, whose expression was grim and unyielding.

“Why did you leave your wand at home?” asked Albus without greeting.

This was the last question Gellert would have expected. He could not contain his surprise. “Wh—what?” he stammered rather inelegantly as his mind raced for a reasonable excuse. “I’m here on Auror business. I don’t know what—”

“Don’t!” snarled Albus in a low dangerous tone that was almost unrecognizable. He reached into his pocket and thrust the wand in Gellert’s face. “I thought a well-respected Auror like you would know the first rule about leaving the house.”

Gellert clenched his jaw. He knew this day was coming, but he had hoped to tell Albus on his own terms and not while being ambushed in a dirty alleyway in Southampton while he was hunting for a dangerous spinster witch.

“But obviously you do know,” continued Albus, unsmiling. “And I think you _do_ have a wand with you.”

After a beat, Gellert nodded slowly, reluctantly, but he had trouble finding his voice.

“I think I have a good idea as to which wand,” said Albus acidly. There was no twinkle in his chilly blue eyes. “It could _only_ be one wand.”

Gellert’s internal thoughts warred chaotically. He wracked his mind for something to say, for something to ameliorate the situation.

“How did you find me?” he blurted instead.

Albus glared. “With a tracking spell,” he replied. “Obviously, I tried to track your wand first. Imagine my surprise when I found it neatly stored in your nightstand drawer.”

Gellert winced at his own carelessness. Then again, he had not planned to keep the Elder Wand a secret from Albus for this long; he was waiting for the right moment to tell him, but it never seemed quite right. He was paying for his deception now.

“You tried the pendant next,” he guessed, pointing to the silver trinket storing their blood pact, which he always wore on his chest.

“Yes,” said Albus shortly.

They stared at each other for nearly a full minute. It was Albus who broke the standoff. “How did you find the Elder Wand?”

Although he was expecting it (Albus was too clever not to put the pieces together), he still flinched at the bold question. The time for denial was over. “Theseus led me to the man who was selling cursed trinkets to your schoolchildren,” explained Gellert cautiously. He was not sure where he currently stood with Albus. “It turns out that Burke was the same man who escaped with the wand in Switzerland all those years ago. I…” He hesitated again, searching for the right words. “I took the wand from him.”

His partner frowned deeply. Albus was the one who reported Burke’s misdeeds to the Auror Office. Weeks ago, Albus thought furiously, before Christmas. They were almost halfway through January. 

The blond-haired man looked at him anxiously. “I was going to tell you, Albus,” he asserted. “I just—”

“Just what?” snapped Albus, at the end of his wits. “You wanted it for yourself. You always have.” He closed his eyes, biting back tears that threatened to escape, hardly believing that this was the man in whom he once placed so much faith, such _misplaced_ faith. “The truth is, Gellert, I have always been perfectly happy for you to be the master of the Elder Wand, but you really don’t trust anyone except yourself, do you?”

Gellert shook his head vehemently. “No, it’s not that!” he refuted. Of course, he trusted Albus. “I was just thinking of a way to tell you without causing a misunderstanding.” He threw his hands up. “We are always fighting over the smallest—”

“Misunderstanding?” repeated Albus. “Let me ask you—where is Burke?”

Gellert fell silent once more. His face was schooled into an impassive expression. He felt a few tendrils probing towards his mind, but he forced his mind to remain devoid of any thoughts and images. The piercing blue eyes were not easy to resist, and this was a mental battle he could only withstand for so long. He may be adept at Occlumency, but it was Albus who taught him the skill, who was also an accomplished Legilimens himself. Part of him felt unreasonably hurt that his lover would resort to such means to extract the truth from him, even if he had been the one who chose to be deceitful.

“Did you kill him?” The question was filled with quiet resignation. 

The world seemed to crumble around him. Gellert tested his mental shields; they were still intact. The question had nothing to do with Legilimency. Somehow, Albus reached this conclusion on his own, or perhaps his attempt to shield his mind gave Albus the answer he needed. He felt dejected, angry, and… _heartbroken_ all at once. Albus, the only person whose opinions ever mattered, saw him as no more than a killer.

_But you _are_ a killer_, said the nasty voice within. _Albus is right_.

“Burke attacked me with the wand,” he said defensively. “It backfired on him.” 

“You did nothing to stop him,” accused Albus, stripping away his excuses. “You were the master of the wand. You could have Disarmed him, you could have Stunned him, but you did not. Did you allow him, or did you provoke him into using a deadly curse on you _knowing_ that it would backfire on him?”

Gellert said nothing, confirming his accusation.

“You as good as murdered him!” shouted Albus. He turned his head away, suddenly unable to look at him. “How many more, Gellert? How many?”

“I have not—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” He almost never raised his voice, not even at his most vexing students. There was a terrible fury in his posture, and suddenly Gellert remembered that he was looking at the most formidable wizard of his generation, a man who was even a shade more talented than himself.

“Isadora Crouch was quite eager to share your _talents_ with me,” continued Albus in an unrelenting tone. “Between Unforgivable Curses and your fine display of Fiendfyre, I wonder how much Dark Magic have you been practicing? How many inconvenient people have you ‘_eliminated_’?”

“They were not innocent people,” he protested, but his words sounded empty even to himself. “I have never hurt anyone who did not deserve it.”

“Deserve it?” Albus stared at him in disbelief. “I suppose you will judge who has the right to live and who dies. You think you can justify torture and Dark Magic because you use them against people that you deem as evil? You can justify anything, can’t you? Eventually, it will be those who speak out against you, or those who are merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. You are no better than them.”

He wanted to rail against the accusation. Of course, he was better than them! Evil wizards like Burke and MacLeod the Monstrous were cruel without reason. He had _just cause_.

But somehow, all of his reasons felt insignificant and feeble in the shadow of Albus’s disappointment. The righteousness he felt when Burke crumpled to the ground lifeless was now a mere glimmer of doubt as he found himself unable to look into those accusing blue eyes.

He could not put a word to the feeling he was experiencing. He only knew that his head felt like it was being crushed ruthlessly in a vice, denying him the clarity that he desperately needed. This must be what it felt like to be terminally ill, he thought, because he had no other way to describe the unbearable agony that threatened to drown him. It was as if the truth that he refused to accept for so long was now laid bare for all to see; maybe he had made himself sick, trying all these years to be—no, _pretending_ to be—a man who was good enough for Albus Dumbledore.

All of the selfishness, the ruthlessness, the desire for more power—that was all him, the unapologetic true version of Gellert Grindelwald. He was meant to be a great man, but not a good man. 

Then he met Albus, and he felt something he had never felt before. Somewhere along the way, he thought he could be different. Because of the way Albus looked at him: like Gellert was responsible for the warmth of the sun, or the stars in the night sky. When Albus looked at him like _that_, he almost believed that he could be a good man. A part of him _yearned_ to be that person, to be someone who deserved the love that Albus freely gave. When he stayed in Godric’s Hollow, he chose to fight against his true nature.

He failed. And of course, he did. The man Albus believed in, the man Albus thought he was, never existed. For years and years, he delayed this moment with foolish lies and hopeful delusions because he was too weak to face to truth: They were never meant to be together.

Admitting this was another stab of agony. And for a moment, he wanted to fight again. He was not ready to give up.

But in the end, it was the look in Albus’s eyes that caused all the fight to leave his body. It was no longer the warm gaze of affection, mirth, and devotion. Instead, he only saw disappointment, revulsion, and pain. 

“You’re right,” he said, calm voice expertly masking his inner torment. He had so much practice with disguise and manipulation, after all. “I’m not like you, Albus. I won’t shy away from what needs to be done.” He scarcely knew what he was saying; the only instinct that remained was the desire to flee before he could be hurt any more than he already was.

“I can’t let you hurt more people,” said Albus hoarsely, eyes refusing to meet Gellert’s.

Neither of them could say for certain when it happened, but when Albus looked down at his hand, he was almost bewildered to see his wand, drawn and ready. Gellert drew his own wand instinctively, but the tremor in his hand betrayed his apprehension. Although he was expecting it, Albus was slightly taken aback at the sight of the Elder Wand; Gellert allowed the glamour to drop, revealing its true appearance rather than the disguise of his old wand. Instead of fear or trepidation, a look of sadness passed over Albus’s face.

After a silent standoff that seemed to last hours (although only seconds passed), it was Gellert who lowered his wand first, as his other hand reached instinctively for their blood pact pendant. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe he still felt something for the other man, but he knew that he had no will to fight. Not today.

Albus lowered his wand too. “We can’t fight each other,” he said, staring wistfully at the ornament. 

“But you wish you could?” The thought was too painful. Gellert clenched the pendant so tightly that he drew blood. “You really want to fight me?”

The auburn-haired man closed his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he admitted quietly. “The last thing I want is to fight you.” He took half a step forward, almost instinctively, but caught himself, leaving a poignant distance between them. For a moment, he thought the other man was about to do the same, but Gellert only stood stiffly in place.

“I am sorry,” said Gellert, voice strained. A lock of blond hair fell into his left eye; he brushed it aside in a rough motion, blinking a little too quickly. _I am sorry that I was not a better man_, he left unsaid.

“As am I… I can’t do this anymore.” Albus turned away, and his posture tightened almost imperceptibly. His voice broke at his next words. “I loved you. I really did.” _But love is not enough_, he wanted to say.

Gellert could only stare mutely at the silhouette of his back; it suddenly struck him that he had never said those words. He felt the unexpected desire to laugh, because he did love Albus and never said it, not once; the world was ending, _his_ world was ending, and he wanted nothing more than to say those words—for the first time and probably the last time. Fate was far too cruel, showing him the depth of his feelings in the moment that he was about to lose it all. No, he would not say the words, not when it would change nothing. Blood dripped from his palm, and a few drops stained the brown earth, but he did not loosen his grip on the pendant. It was the last thing that held them together. He, the man with the silver tongue, could not find any words to save them.

A defeated sigh followed his silence. Albus turned to face him again. “I don’t think we should see each other again.”

Gellert knew it was coming but that did not soften the blow to hear Albus say the words. In less than ten words, ten years of his life came crashing to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here is the break up chapter that I dreaded writing. But alas, there must be some suffering before a happy ending.
> 
> This is the start of the fourth (and final) part of the story - which has been divided into three chapters, this one being the first.
> 
> Thank you for reading. And your comments mean a lot to me. Cheers!


	6. Part IVb - In Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, his brother’s disbelief that this could be anything but a temporary spat between them broke something inside him. For two months, he had tried so hard to keep it together, and he had. But even Aberforth, the same Aberforth who despised Gellert with fervent enthusiasm, did not believe that anything could ever tear the two of them apart. How could it have all gone so wrong?

**March 14, 1909**

**The Red House, Hogsmeade**

Aberforth insisted on meeting him at his house. _I am not wasting my time walking on foot to your stupid office_, he wrote back when Albus asked him for some old alchemy notes that he left behind in Godric’s Hollow.

Now that Albus was back in his house, he regretted not insisting on meeting Aberforth at the newly rebuilt Three Broomsticks instead. Hogwarts was now his permanent residence. Since Gellert left, he could count the number of times he’s been back on one hand. It no longer felt like home. Even though Gellert had removed his personal effects almost immediately after their last confrontation, there were still too many memories for him to bear. Some of the happiest moments of his life took place in this house, and now they only served to remind him of what he lost. He still had Gellert’s old wand, which the other man never came back to claim (‘Why should he when he has the Elder Wand?’ thought Albus bitterly); no matter how furious he had been in the early days after their separation, he could not bring himself to destroy the wand. It was almost as familiar to him as his own wand. 

He looked around with a critical eye. Every surface seemed to be caked in a thin layer of dust. He noticed a stack of Gellert’s books, probably left behind in haste. They used to spend hours sifting through the texts, searching for clues about the Hallows. This caused his mood to darken even further, as he remembered scathingly that Gellert probably stopped trusting him ages ago, not even bothering to tell him that he had found the wand.

Piles of neatly stacked papers covered their sitting room floor. Over the years, they had collected a huge volume of letters: correspondences from leading magical theoreticians to supporters and critics of the Greater Good movement. 

Against his better judgement, he attended a gathering of the Greater Good crowd about two weeks ago, half-hoping that he would run into Gellert while simultaneously wishing to avoid him; after spending most of his adult life in such close company with one person, the other man had become more than a partner—it was like he was missing one of his own limbs. Most of Gellert’s Auror colleagues were present at the gathering, including Scamander, as were Albus’s dearest friends, Elphias and Minerva. It was one of the largest and most interactive crowds they ever had, a testament to the appeal of their ideology; a few high-ranked Ministry officials were even present, although Albus suspected that they attended to nervously monitor the group’s political aspirations. Gellert would have been thrilled… if he had bothered to come. It was completely uncharacteristic for him to be absent.

Albus swallowed his pride and asked Theseus about Gellert’s absence. (He told himself that Aurors were frequently put in dangerous situations, and he just wanted to make sure his friend was not hurt.) He was vexed to learn that Gellert left on sabbatical weeks ago and left no forwarding address. “_A personal retreat or something_,” Scamander had described. No one had seen or heard from him in weeks, and he had not provided a return date.

Gellert did not seem the type to take an extended vacation, but Albus had no choice but to accept Scamander’s version of events; he reminded himself sternly that Gellert’s whereabouts were no longer his business. However, that didn’t stop him from anxiously scanning any letters he received from his foreign contacts for signs that Gellert may be living abroad.

Worse, he could not prevent his traitorous mind from wandering back to his erstwhile lover. His dreams were frequently besieged with images of expressive eyes with striking heterochromia, the curve of a flirtatious smirk, and the glow of sun-kissed hair.

In fact, the other man could not have haunted him more successfully if he outright died and became a ghost.

Not even a week earlier, Albus was forced to attend a curriculum meeting with the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and he was unexpectedly reunited with Cyrille Lestrange Jr., a former classmate who recently took over his father’s position on the board. There was no love lost between him and Lestrange (Albus once jinxed Lestrange’s broom to repeatedly beat him over the head after the arrogant Slytherin locked Elphias in a closet for over two days), but he had to pinch himself to stop staring at his former rival.

He almost laughed when he finally made the connection, recalling the family tree that Gellert once drew for him: Athénaïs Grindelwald, who was born Athénaïs Lestrange, has an older brother, Cyrille Lestrange Sr. He noted with amusement that Cyrille Jr. was much less handsome than his Austrian first cousin; Cyrille’s eyes were narrow and grey, his nose was slightly crooked, and his broad shoulders were not entirely symmetrical. Nevertheless, he possessed a few undeniably familiar features: the similarly angled jawline and the nearly identical shade of golden blond hair. If they stood side-by-side, Gellert and Cyrille could be mistaken for brothers. 

Perhaps fate was mocking him by reintroducing Cyrille Lestrange into his life now of all times. In protest, he avoided speaking to Lestrange for almost the entire meeting, not that his ex-classmate noticed or cared.

The other, milder vexation in his life was Fawkes. The loyal phoenix still kept him company, dutifully permitting Albus to stroke his soft, bright feathers, but there were times when he would fly off inexplicably for days at a time. He would always return, but his piercing black eyes seemed distant, as if the sudden separation between his two companions had wounded the magnificent creature’s soul. He spared a glance at Fawkes’s usual perch. It was empty, just like his other resting spot in Albus’s office when he checked this morning; Fawkes must have taken off for a few days again.

Just as he was praying that he would not have to stay in this house for longer than necessary, Aberforth arrived promptly at their agreed time, holding a comically thick pile of parchment in his arms. He shoved the toppling stack into his brother’s arms. 

“That’s everything I could find,” he said gruffly. “Some of it might be _his_ writing. Bloody nutcase left a mess in your old room and the barn, but I expected nothing less from him.”

Albus’s stomach flipped uncomfortably as he rummaged through the notes. As Aberforth stated, some of them were not research notes; some were letters exchanged between himself and Gellert. Fate was certainly conspiring against all his efforts to put the man behind him. 

“Where is he anyway?” asked Aberforth, surveying the empty house disdainfully. “Not that I’m complaining.” He shrugged. “I s’pose he is working late and harassing hardworking wizards for minor violations of the Statute?” He had not forgiven Gellert for ambushing him at Godric’s Hollow with the dreadful Crouch woman.

“I have no idea,” replied Albus shortly, hoping that this line of questioning would end here.

Of course, his younger brother never obliged, raising a curious eyebrow instead; he folded his arms and waited for an explanation. Albus sighed, but he had never been a liar. No, that was Gellert’s talent, he thought bitterly.

“I haven’t seen him in… two months,” he admitted with a grimace. He could hardly believe it has been that long.

Aberforth’s eyes flashed a surprised look. Then, he snorted derisively. “Well, it’s only a matter of time,” grunted his brother. “I’m sure he will come running back to you any moment now. Never seen two people more obsessed with each other.” He scrunched his nose in disgust.

For some reason, his brother’s disbelief that this could be anything but a temporary spat between them broke something inside him. For two months, he had tried so hard to keep it together, and he had. But even Aberforth, the same Aberforth who despised Gellert with fervent enthusiasm, did not believe that anything could ever tear the two of them apart. How could it have all gone so wrong?

He buried his face in his hands, tears now flowing freely. In the effort to suppress the sobs threatening to escape his throat, his body started to shake. He barely registered that Aberforth had completely dropped his scornful expression and had a gentle hand on his shoulder, looking at him with great concern.

“It’s really over this time,” he sniffed when he regained the ability to speak.

Anger brimmed in Aberforth’s eyes. “What did he do?” he gritted furiously. “I swear to Merlin. I will find him and kill him—”

“No,” said Albus shakily. “Please, don’t. Just leave it alone.”

Aberforth looked mutinous. “Stop defending him, Albus. I always knew that he was a no good—” 

“I-I’m not,” he said angrily, wiping his eyes. “If you must know, I ended things with him. He has respected that and kept his distance.” He looked at his brother. “Promise me you won’t go after him.”

A stony silence followed. Aberforth crossed his arms again.

“Please, for me,” pleaded Albus. A part of him was scared of the knowledge that his former lover carried the Elder Wand. He was no longer sure what Gellert was capable of doing, but he did not want to find out. He could not live with himself if Aberforth was hurt because of him. He shoved aside the small voice that reminded him that he also did not want Gellert to be hurt because of him either.

“Fine,” conceded Aberforth begrudgingly. He scowled. “Good riddance to him, I say.” 

Albus must have looked miserable enough that Aberforth insisted on staying for supper. After one look at Albus’s listless face, he even insisted on cooking, although that did not stop him from grumbling about having to pick up supplies from the local greengrocer or the poor state of Albus’s kitchen.

When Albus offered to help, he shoved him into a seat and rolled his eyes.

“I am a far better cook than you,” he declared. “That’s why Ariana used to ‘accidentally’ burn everything you made.”

Albus chuckled, a sound that had become foreign to himself. Maybe he imagined it, but Aberforth looked rather pleased with himself as he fumbled with the tea kettle. 

“I don’t need your tears to dress my salad either,” he grumbled, preparing the kettle.

The shelf next to the window was a mess, stacked with precariously balanced ceramicwares and other trinkets. Aberforth rummaged around for a cup. He cursed when he sent several plates and a glass bell jar crashing to the floor. 

Albus looked up from the table at the noise. Aberforth already had his wand out.

“_Reparo_.” The broken plates reassembled. He set them carefully on the counter.

“What on earth?” muttered Aberforth. He picked up a palm-sized white flower, which somehow escaped completely unscathed from the messy tumble. The snow-coloured fluffy petals shone stubbornly in the candlelight. “Oh, it must be enchanted.” 

Albus recognized the flower with a heavy pang. It was the silver edelweiss that Gellert plucked from the Austrian Alps. He almost forgot he had it; a jolt of guilt slammed into his chest. Once upon a time, he would gaze at it fondly every time he entered the kitchen. To his surprise, the flower looked as pristine as the day Gellert presented it to him more than eight years ago.

Aberforth regarded him warily, a look of realization emerging on his face. He glared at the flower, as if it had somehow wronged him. He pointed his wand, levitating it.

Albus realized what he was about to do.

“Don’t,” he protested, but it was too late.

“_Incendio!_”

The edelweiss was engulfed in flames. Overwhelming dread settled in his stomach, but it was unnecessary. When the flames dissipated, the white petals and silver glean remained untouched, swaying back and forth in the air as if mocking them.

Annoyed, Aberforth banished it to a corner beside the window.

“Typical of him,” he groused. “Can’t even leave without having one final laugh. Bury it in the backyard or something.”

Afterwards, as they sat together for supper, Albus was still unsettled by what just happened. His eyes would drift involuntarily towards the silver edelweiss, which thrived defiantly in the dusty corner of its exile. His eidetic memory would not let him forget either.

_According to the famous Austrian herbologist Adelina Baumgartner, the silver edelweiss signifies love and fidelity and can only be harvested by a person who possesses true devotion for another. Once harvested, the silver edelweiss maintains its longevity for as long as the devotion from the giver to the recipient remains._

-*-*-

**April 20, 1909**

**Hogwarts Castle**

Albus had a special fondness for teaching first year students. There was something special and unique about the way first year students viewed magic—like it was a wondrous miracle that they were excited to attempt for the first time. Over the years, that child-like wonder always faded.

His last class of the day was Defense Against the Dark Arts with the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins, where he taught them the Smokescreen Spell, a rather useful piece of defensive magic. While Leta Lestrange was the first to generate a cloud of smoke, her smoke cloud grew excessively and caused a number of students to cough, forcing Albus to quickly clear the smoke. John Abbott’s attempt was the most controlled, creating an effective haze throughout the room that hindered visibility.

After a few points on theory, he had them practice again towards the end of class. When the period ended, most students were rather pleased to have managed fairly reasonable smokescreens. He had to issue a warning that they were not to practice in the stairwells or other hazardous locations.

Cleaning up for the day, he noticed that one of his students had left behind his textbook. He shook his head in amusement, knowing exactly who it was. While the boy was a good student, he certainly had no regard for keeping track of his possessions. Albus would have to send the boy another note to retrieve his textbook later. 

When John Abbott started at Hogwarts on September 1, 1908, it was not merely a personal milestone but a breakthrough for Wizard kind. At the age of two months, his parents were brutally murdered and he was abducted by Dark wizards. At the age of four, he became an Obscurial and was not expected to live past the age of ten. At the age of six, he became the only Obscurial in the entire history of magic to be cured of his condition. At the age of eight, after nearly two years at St. Mungo’s, he re-entered the magical community as the adopted son of respected Healer Cecil Abbott.

Although he was cured and never developed another Obscurus, the scars of his exceptionally abusive early childhood were not easily erased. But after years of paternal love and acceptance from his adoptive father, young John discovered that magic was not solely a tool for pain, but it was an innate part of himself and a means to bring joy and healing. On his eleventh birthday, his Hogwarts letter arrived, and he realized that not only did he no longer fear magic, he was eager to be part of this world. However, it did not mean that he had no misgivings. He would be arriving as a semi-celebrity, as news of his survival had been reported beyond Healers’ journals but also to the public at large. His unusual upbringing also meant he had few experiences with children his own age.

The teachers were asked to keep a close eye on him, not because he would necessarily pose a danger to other students, but because no one quite knew what to expect from the boy. Would he find Hogwarts too overwhelming? Even Headmaster Black, who ironically never liked children despite his profession, regularly inquired about John’s progress, although this may have been motivated by a selfish desire to rub against a ‘celebrity’—even if said celebrity was a child. John also received special dispensation from the Headmaster to visit St. Mungo’s once a month for a checkup and reunion with his father; as the first in a medical miracle, it was better to be cautious than to leave anything to chance.

Despite these unique circumstances, Albus was pleased that John seemed to be adapting as well as can be expected in his first year at Hogwarts. The boy was sorted into his old House, Gryffindor. For several weeks, he had been somewhat concerned that the child seemed to be a loner, forming no apparent bonds with his Gryffindor agemates.

Then in October, John Abbott was nearly trampled on the grounds by a group of students chasing after a first year Slytherin girl named Leta Lestrange. To everyone’s surprise, he jumped on a broomstick (no one knew he could even fly) and divebombed into the crowd, causing them to scatter and abandon their harassment of the Lestrange girl. It just so happened that first year Hufflepuff student Newt Scamander unwittingly stumbled upon this chaos as he was attempting to sneak a crate of Fire Crabs back to his dormitory. Dropping his crate in surprise, the Fire Crabs escaped and scuttered after the retreating students; the school matron spent most of the evening mending minor burns.

And so, the three misfits served a month of detention together and were nearly inseparable thereafter. Whenever he saw the three of them, Albus couldn’t help but wonder if Sorting should be done at all. At the same time, he was glad the three hellions were in different houses; he was not sure if a single Head of House could handle disciplining all three. Sometimes he marvelled at the trouble they managed to cause, but mostly he was happy that they found each other in a world that understood them so little. In his more melancholic moments, John Abbott reminded him of the life Ariana could have had. 

As first year students, all three were performing fairly well in his class. Leta reminded him of Gellert, not in appearance—although they were distantly related—but in the way they seemed to care little for other people’s approval while possessing nearly effortless talent. Unlike Gellert, he sensed that Leta preferred to hold herself back for some reason. John, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy Defense Against the Dark Arts the most out of the trio and even asked Albus on one occasion what it takes to become an Auror. (Albus was not too surprised, since it was Aurors, specifically Gellert and Dougal Macmillan, who rescued the boy all those years ago.) As for Newt, the boy clearly preferred to daydream about his magical creatures, but Albus privately thought he was every bit as gifted as his older brother.

As he picked up John’s forgotten textbook for safekeeping, a piece of parchment slipped out from between the covers. It floated neatly to the floor. Albus summoned the slip of paper to his hand, expecting to see handwritten notes from his class. As he scanned it quickly, he immediately regretted reading the note. It was a private letter to the boy, and not only that, he recognized the handwriting all too well.

_From the Auror Office, Ministry of Magic_

_Addressed to John Abbott, Abbott Manor, Godric’s Hollow_

_August 1, 1908, 0930:_

_John,_

_I am pleased to hear that you are doing so well. You do not need to thank me for the birthday gift. It was my pleasure to take you to purchase your first wand. In fact, I should thank your father for allowing me the honour._

_Maybe I am overstepping, but I sense a little nervousness between the lines of your last letter. If I am right, then I want you to know that it is normal to be worried or scared. But also know that you are accepted and cared for—by your father, by Dougal, and by me. ALWAYS. Do not let anyone make you believe otherwise. And remember, magic blooms only in rare souls, and that makes you a gift to this world._

_If you ever need to talk about anything, please write to me._

_Your friend,_

_Gellert_

He could not tear his eyes away from the letter. The logical part of his brain chided him for invading the boy’s privacy, even though it had been unintentional.

Ever since that dreadful January day, he had tried so hard to remind himself why he and Gellert could no longer be together. In fact, he would make a mental list of all the valid reasons: Gellert was practicing the Dark Arts, Gellert hurt people unnecessarily, Gellert even killed people (evil people, but still), and Gellert lied to him over and over again (lies of omission, but lies nevertheless). Any one of those reasons was bad enough.

But he also had all of these other facts: Gellert created a powerful healing charm, Gellert saved a young boy from the Obscurus, Gellert wrote to the same scared boy to offer friendship, and… Gellert may still love him (he could not stop thinking about the silver edelweiss).

At first, he tried to imagine the worst scenarios. Gellert cared about power, and what is more powerful than creating your own spell? (But a spell that heals?) Gellert experimented with Ariana’s Obscurus not out of love for Ariana but because he was only interested in harnessing the power of the Obscurus. (Then why continue his work after he realized that an Obscurus was useless without its host?) Gellert has always been gifted at manipulating others, so why not a young boy? (But what use is the boy to him, when the boy is neither an Obscurial nor a political ally? John Abbott was nothing more than a normal, if talented, scared young wizard.)

Gellert Grindelwald was such a contradiction. Albus wanted to forget him desperately, but the ache in his heart seemed to grow rather than fade with time. And here he was, holding a letter written by Gellert, but it contained only affection and concern. The letter must have meant a lot to the boy. The edges of the parchment were crinkled and thinning from being handled regularly; the signature was slightly smudged from what looks like a tea stain.

“Professor!”

He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not hear footsteps approaching his classroom. John Abbott rushed into the room, hair messy and tie askew, looking slightly red in the face.

“Sorry to bother you, Professor,” he said, a little out of breath from running. “I forgot my textbook—again. Oh, is that—”

He turned even more red as he noticed the letter in Albus’s hand.

“I must apologize, Mr. Abbott,” he said immediately. “It slipped out of your textbook. I’m afraid I read its contents, thinking that it was your class notes.”

The boy’s cheeks were still flushed, but he didn’t seem all that upset. “It’s all right, Professor,” he said with a tiny smile. “My fault for leaving my things lying around.”

Albus handed him the textbook and the letter. “The fault is entirely mine,” he insisted. “Although I hope you believe me when I say that I generally do not make it a habit to read my students’ private letters.” 

John laughed a little. “I know, sir,” he said without a hint of anger. “Gellert warned me that you are stickler for rules.”

“Did he, now?” asked Albus, half-amused that Gellert warned his future student about him.

“In a good way!” insisted the boy. “Just that you’re fair and kind to everyone. It’s true.”

Albus smiled. He couldn’t help but ask his next question. “Do you still write to him?”

The boy nodded. “Actually, I haven’t replied yet to his last letter. I should thank him for the Easter sweets, even though Newt ate all of them. Maybe I’ll do that now.”

Albus felt strangely relieved. Easter was only a week ago, so Gellert was probably doing fine… wherever he was. In his darkest thoughts, he imagined that Gellert was gallivanting around Eastern Europe or the Americas, free from Albus to learn whatever Dark Magic he could with his new wand and consorting with all types of sordid company. But somehow that did not quite fit the image of a man who wrote letters and sent Easter gifts to an eleven-year-old.

It took every bit of willpower for him to refrain from interrogating his student for further details about Gellert’s whereabouts and current activities. Clearly, Gellert had no desire to reach out to Albus; it was a depressing thought. More than ever, Albus despaired that he might never be able to free his heart from the other man.

-*-*-

**April 25, 1909**

**Hogwarts Castle**

The hour was late, but he could not sleep. He flipped mindlessly through his old alchemy notes, and that was when he stumbled across a few of their old letters. It was in the same stack of parchment that Aberforth brought over last month. So far, he had refrained from reading them, but something about his encounter with the first year boy lingered with him, perhaps changed his perspective. Whereas he was filled with anger before and used that to banish the mere idea of rereading their old letters, he now felt sadness more than anger, loneliness more than disappointment. 

Against his better judgement, he picked up the dusty, yellowing parchment.

_June 27, 1899, 22:55_

_Al,_

_Finished reading your draft. Admirable presentation of evidence, meticulous as always. You’re always about the facts and not speculation. But there is one section that I don’t quite agree with—you comment that emotions cannot be captured or preserved in a physical form._

_A few years ago, I retrieved a memory from my classmate for an experiment. He gave me a memory of deep affection for a girl in our class. I transfigured and preserved that memory in the form of an apple tree. He and the girl later parted ways on poor terms. He even confided to me that he bitterly regretted their relationship. But the apple tree continued to grow and bear fruit. One day, I offered him an apple from that tree. After a single bite, he claimed to feel all of the love he once held for her return to his heart. Instead of bitterness and regret, he could only remember the love from the past._

_There you have it! Love—preserved in an apple tree. Looking forward to hearing your opinion._

_Gellert_

_June 27, 1899, 23:30_

_Gellert,_

_I hope I have not interrupted your sleep. I certainly could not sleep after your last message! Your experiment is fascinating._

_However, I think we need to clearly define what we consider as love (or any other emotion for that matter). When we speak about feeling love or anger or hatred towards a person, we refer to the present instantaneous moment in time. Of course, you may have fought with them in the past, and those memories may consist of anger or resentment, but ‘feeling’ predominantly refers to what you feel in the present. Perhaps, we should specify that what you preserved was a memory of love—powerful, but still a memory. When your classmate relived that moment, he brought that memory to the present, and, as a result, re-experienced a powerful ‘echo’ of love._

_Some may say that we are arguing semantics, but I would maintain that memories embody emotions of the past; upon recalling a moment, what we feel in the present is technically a memory of an emotion rather than the true emotion itself. Your thoughts?_

_Albus_

_June 28, 1899, 00:40_

_Dear Albus,_

_Sleep? Had we but world enough and time! There is always so much to say to you. I could stay up every night for a month, and it would not be enough time. (Speaking of time, I have a rather interesting theory about transfiguring time… perhaps another time. Pardon my terrible attempt at a pun.)_

_Now, back to our discussion. You make a distinction between love and the memory of love. I would argue that the two cannot be separated. What gives a man his identity? I propose that it is memory—for it is the sum of our experiences that define who we are. Is the memory of past love less powerful and less meaningful than love in the present? A rather unromantic view from you! If we can recall love, surely that love still exists. Then again, we humans are prone to present bias and prefer to discount the importance of both the past and the future._

_Your friend,_

_Gellert_

_June 28, 1899, 0133:_

_Dear Gellert,_

_I must blame you entirely, as sleep continues to elude me. But at my back, I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near. (As a matter of fact, I have my own experience with transfiguring time—a discussion for another day!)_

_Goodness, you may have reshaped my entire understanding of emotion. What you are saying implies that emotions are to a degree independent from time; they are neither in the past nor in the present, but rather, once they exist, they simply… exist. As a consequence, there is no such a thing as ‘past’ love. As long as love lives in memory, true love cannot die. (Romantic enough for you?)_

_Yours,_

_Albus_

He shuts his eyes, unable to read any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of Gellert, but Albus deserves some (miserable) attention - poor guy. Next chapter, we will find out what Gellert has been up to this whole time, and they will have a much needed conversation.
> 
> "Had we but world enough and time" and "But at my back, I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near" are both lines from the Andrew Marvell poem, _To His Coy Mistress_.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for reading and for your kind comments!


	7. Part IVc - Ten Seconds, Ten Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t believe what you said about not missing me, and I don’t believe that you no longer care about me. You can lie to me, for whatever reason you are not telling me, and you can lie to yourself, but the evidence does not lie. You once said that I am all about the facts, so here is a fact for you: I love you. Sometimes, I think I loved you in the first ten seconds we met, but after ten years, I _still_ love you and I always will. Here is another fact: I know you love me.” He studied Gellert’s anguished expression. “So, please, Süßer… _talk_ to me. Because I won’t give up on us, and I’m not leaving here without you.”

**May 2, 1909**

**Portree, Isle of Skye**

A burst of flame from just outside the window of his small row house interrupted Gellert from his writing. With a little huff under his breath, he opened the creaky window to let in the intruder. Looking around the empty dark street beneath his window, he was satisfied that none of his Muggle neighbours had witnessed the abnormal arrival.

Fawkes landed cheekily next to his half-finished supper. Ignoring the beef stew, he pecked at a stem of celery. 

“You have to stop coming here. My neighbours think I’m a pyromaniac.” Fawkes ignored him and continued to work away at the abandoned plate of food. “Shoo!” He nudged the soft feathers of Fawkes’s underbelly. The beautiful crimson and gold feathers were abnormally warm beneath his fingers.

In spite of his words, he smiled as Fawkes responded with an indignant cluck; if anything, the stubborn bird only pecked more insistently at the wilted piece of celery. Gellert sighed, stroking the soft belly feathers indulgently with one hand while waving his free hand to summon two sweet pears from his pantry; he always kept a fresh stock of them (he would swear up and down that it for himself and not for Fawkes, which made a lot of sense, since Gellert hated pears). With a snap of his fingers, he sliced the pears in perfect eighths. Fawkes dropped the celery and nibbled his thumb affectionately.

“Ouch,” he said, glaring at his insolent visitor. It didn’t actually hurt, but the phoenix was always nipping at him; Fawkes never did it to Albus and was always on his best behaviour around the red head. “I mean it, Fawkes. Albus will not be happy that you’re coming here. Go back and stay with him.”

Instead of acknowledging his comments, Fawkes devoured the pears happily. It was utterly hopeless. For some reason, the stubborn creature refused to leave him alone. Fawkes barely gave him the time of day when they all lived together in their Hogsmeade home, but now he visited Gellert on a weekly basis, staying for days at a time. Fawkes was yet another link to his former lover that he simply could not sever.

When Albus chose to end their relationship, he was heartbroken and entirely lost. Gellert decided that he needed a break from the Ministry, the Auror Office, the Greater Good gatherings—all of it. Even seeing his colleagues was unbearable; it really made him realize just how intertwined his and Albus’s lives had become. He handed his caseload to Georgina and Macmillan, trusting them to continue Scamander’s training, and applied for personal leave. No one stopped him; in nine years, he had never taken a vacation.

For the first few days, he sat around aimlessly in a dingy London flat. He had so many goals for himself, had a whole revolution planned, but he had foolishly believed that Albus would stand by him through all of it. It was completely absurd, of course. He should have known that Albus would never approve of the extent to which he was willing to go for his (no, he corrected, _their_) goals. Then again, he always knew, deep down; that’s why he hid so many things from Albus—the truth about Portree, how he obtained the Elder Wand, and the type of magic he practiced in secret. Well, good riddance. Albus was gone, and he was free to be himself. 

He should have rejoiced in his new freedom. With the Elder Wand, he could quash any obstacles. Without a soft-hearted partner to hold him back, he could be the ruthless leader the Wizarding world needed. But all of his former dreams tasted like ash in his mouth. At the end of the third day, he cursed Albus Dumbledore’s name, and he cursed the man’s very existence. Because Albus ruined him—truly, utterly ruined him. And worse, Albus abandoned him. Love was the worst thing that ever happened to Gellert Grindelwald. 

Then it got worse, thanks to his Sight. Of all the bits and pieces of the future he has seen, from the mundane to the absolutely terrifying, there was one thing he was never able to see: his future with Albus. During a fitful night in that first lonely week, he laid awake and fantasized about seeing Albus again, even thought about asking for another chance, and almost mustered up enough courage to write a letter. But amidst his fantasies about reunion, a new vision came to him during the darkest hours of the night. 

_He saw a white marble tomb. When he read the inscription, he felt the world close in on him. He was at the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore. He heard voices too, bits of a conversation, but they were far away; he could not place them. “The Dark Lord is looking for the Elder Wand,” said a young man. “He found that Gregorovitch didn't have it anymore: It was stolen from him. Then Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful.” The voice became muffled for a moment, then continued. "He took the Elder Wand—" Another male voice interrupted, "Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" Their voices faded._

_In front of Gellert, the white tomb trembled and cracked open... He couldn't see Albus's body (for this, he was grateful), but somehow he knew with certainty that Albus lay within. The Dark Lord, a ghastly creature with a snake-like face, snatched the Elder Wand from inside the casket. The monster cackled in delight. He held the wand aloft and hissed in a barely human voice, “You cannot protect your old friend, Grindelwald. Look at him, cold and broken, just like you. I will complete what you never could.”_

When the vision ended, he was trembling from head to toe and soaked with cold sweat. Not since his childhood had he reacted so violently to a vision. He has seen images of mass warfare, genocide, and unimaginable suffering, but none of them compared to the horror he felt with this particular vision. It was the first time he was shown a glimpse of either of their personal futures, and he would have given anything not to have seen it. So this is what Fate has in store for them? He will use the Elder Wand to become powerful, but not powerful enough, it seems. He will fail, and Albus will die because of him, by the sounds of the future Dark Lord’s taunts.

He was almost equally disturbed by the overwhelming atmosphere of despair in the vision. He had not saved the Wizarding world, which was clearly plunged into darkness in this future. He shuddered at the gruesome image of the Dark Lord, a man who no longer resembled a human being, perhaps as a result of practicing the darkest magic known to mankind. He supposed he should be grateful for the small mercy of not seeing his own crippled body in the future; he wondered if he too looked just as monstrous and snake-like. There were so many unanswered questions, each more terrifying than the previous, but a few things were clear from the vision: he will be the catalyst for much despair, and Albus will pay the price for his failures.

For several more days, he lingered in sleepless misery, unwilling to revisit the vision and unable to forget it.

Then Fawkes showed up.

At first, he was too listless to care and remained in bed stubbornly, ignoring his visitor and the shabby state of his rented flat. Convinced that Fawkes had turned up only to mock him, he was wallowing in a disgraceful state of self-pity when the phoenix started to sing. It was a music unlike anything he had ever heard. He was aware of the expression that music touches the soul, but this was the first time he truly understood that phrase.

He felt like the phoenix’s song was inside him, not around him, and every note seemed to ease his pain a little. The pain was not gone but lessened; the crushing weight of despair had lifted a little. He no longer felt like his existence was completely futile.

“Can you take me away from here?” he had asked Fawkes when the song ended.

The phoenix had given him a soulful look and waved his tail feathers invitingly. Gellert grasped them and in a flash of warm orange light, he was transported out of the dingy room to a peaceful graveyard. The sun was surprisingly warm on that winter day, and beams of light reflected off the white headstones. He stood in the soft snow and stared at the familiar inscription in front of him.

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also_.

He felt an inexplicable twinge in his chest. He had not thought about Ariana in a long time. She was long gone, and he freed her trapped Obscurus years ago after realizing it was ineffectual without a host. He stared at the words numbly, reflecting on the treasure he lost and the ache in his heart.

‘Where your _pain_ is, there will your heart be also’ would be a more fitting phrase, he thought.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the epitaph and thinking about a young girl long departed.

His thoughts were interrupted by Fawkes landing on his shoulder with a firm squeeze. When Gellert touched his tail feathers, they once again departed together. When he re-materialized, he recognized the ruined church of Portree looming in front of them. It was a horrible eyesore, standing there and judging him.

“Why did you bring me here?” His voice was bitter.

This was where he let his anger and pride get the better of him. He had felt nothing when MacLeod the Monstrous and his disciples met their demise inside the old church, but now he felt uneasy standing next to the charred remains of their final grave. He only remembered the sadness and revulsion in Albus’s eyes.

He averted his gaze and looked anywhere but at the burnt debris. He saw that he was standing in the church cemetery. His mind wandered to the young boy whose Obscurus he expelled in this very spot. Remarkably, John was now at Hogwarts and still wrote to him regularly. He was not sure why he kept in touch; he usually found children to be tedious. Except he was responsible for the continued existence of this boy—being the one who ripped out the Obscurus, which was now the only Obscurus in captivity without a host, safely stored in the Department of Mysteries. But he felt something more than academic interest in the boy, and it was as if he was more interested in the boy’s well-being and continued success than in his potential as a weapon (in truth, the boy was no weapon anymore… just a boy).

His mind continued to wander between Ariana and John, back to Albus, and then repeating the pattern over and over again. As his thoughts rambled, his feet carried him through Portree until he reached the coast. When he finally came to a stop, he breathed in the chilly sea air. The Isle of Skye was beautiful, he thought, as he admired the highland hills behind him and the stormy beach beneath his feet. He turned to Fawkes.

“I’m ready.” 

The very next morning, he sent a letter with Fawkes to St. Mungo’s, asking Healer Abbott whether he was still interested in working on the Regeneration Charm. His reply came not a day later, and Gellert was invited to take a temporary position in the Healer’s department at St. Mungo’s. If the vision was right and he was going to fail as a leader of the Wizarding world, it said nothing about him hiding away in a musty hospital wing using the Elder Wand to mend broken bones and heal warts. If Fate wanted to mock him, he was going to repay the favour. 

And so, four months later, he was still there and close to finishing the final draft of his paper on the Regeneration Charm. He had made a few improvements to the spell, but also started working on other topics in Healing magic with Cecil Abbott’s help. Although he had always been talented at the healing arts, he surprised himself with the amount of progress he made; perhaps it was the Elder Wand allowing him to perform magic on an unparalleled level, or perhaps it was because he was actually applying himself fully to the art.

A soft coo from Fawkes snapped him out of his reflections. The phoenix had finished the last slice of pear and glided, satisfied, to perch next to Gellert and his abandoned quill. Black beady eyes peered down at the parchment he had been working on before the arrival of his unexpected visitor.

Gellert made a little ‘tsk’ noise at his companion’s nosiness. “I’m not putting you down as an author,” he said pointedly. Fawkes responded by prodding him firmly with his golden beak. Gellert ruffled his feathers in retaliation, drawing an indignant squawk from the phoenix. 

Fawkes glared and shuffled towards another pile of parchment—his latest work with Abbott, which detailed the long-term side effects of Dark Magic use.

“Careful,” warned Gellert with a stern look. “I haven’t fire-proofed everything.” It was a bit unfair; Fawkes had stopped setting his papers on fire years ago.

Nevertheless, he waved his hand over the parchment to make it impervious to flames. As he did so, his eyes glanced briefly over the first page of text. 

  * _Pallor and thinning of skin, resembling a ghostly sheen_
  * _Redness of the conjunctiva, commonly referred to as bloodshot eyes_
  * _Bleaching effect on the hair, which turns brittle or may even fall out_
  * _Dehumanization of facial features, often adopting animal-like qualities_

Once, Abbott caught him staring in a mirror for far too long, looking for the same features in his own face. (He would never admit it, but he had always been a little vain about his appearance.) But all he saw was a handsome young man with flawless skin staring back at him. He half-expected to see limp, bleached hair, waxy skin, and flattened features. Instead, a soft glow of colour highlighted his high cheekbones, a glossy shine covered his golden hair, his nose was perfectly straight, and his lips were red and full. For an insane moment, he wanted to take a sledgehammer to his face, so that people can see a face that matched his crippled soul.

Abbott had laughed, although not unkindly, at his concerns.

_“I am not entirely naïve, Gellert,” said the Healer. “You are not the first Auror to ask me this question. I am well aware that in your line of work, sometimes you tread a little too close to the Dark Arts.”_

_“Sometimes, we practice Dark Magic,” he corrected._

_“To an extent, we all do,” said Abbott gently. “What are jinxes and hexes? There isn’t always a clearly drawn line between the Dark and Light sides of magic. Are spells inherently Light or Dark? Or is it what we accomplish with our magic?”_

_Ironically, he sounded a lot like Isadora Crouch, although Gellert could not think of two people who were more unlike each other._

_“I’m not talking about jinxes and hexes,” he said pointedly. “I’m talking about much darker magic. The Unforgivable Curses and… worse.”_

_This drew a slight frown from the Healer, but it lingered for only a brief moment, and then his gentle smile returned._

_“I received an owl from John yesterday,” said Abbott, changing the subject. “Personally, I think it’s a little premature, but he’s decided that he wants to be an Auror. He even talked to his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher about what he needs academically to apply for Auror training.” He looked a little amused. “I suppose I have you and Dougal Macmillan to thank.”_

_Gellert looked away. “I hope Professor Dumbledore talked him out of it.”_

_“On the contrary, the Professor wrote to me, praising John’s performance in his class. He reassured me he will do everything to help John if that is still what he wants in a few years.”_

_That did sound like Albus._

_“What I am trying to say, Gellert, is that you are being unfair to yourself,” continued the Healer. “What you did for John, I do not forget. Your methods can be… excessive, but how many others did you save as an Auror? In the few months you have worked here, have you thought about the people you have helped?”_

_He couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed by Abbott’s dismissal of his concerns. Clearly, the man did not understand the depths of his offenses._

_“I have a knack for healing, you said so yourself,” he muttered, not answering the Healer’s question. “And many academic interests. That’s all.”_

_If anything, Abbott’s smile grew wider. “Would a man whose soul is filled with darkness be able to perform or even conceive of something like the Regeneration Charm? Would a pure creature like a phoenix come near such a man? A man who is capable of love is never truly an evil man.”_

_It was a nice and forgiving thought, but the Healer was prone to generosity in his evaluations of character. Gellert did not think he deserved such a charitable assessment._

He twitched uncomfortably at the memory, tearing his eyes away from the parchment. Gellert regarded Fawkes curiously. He ran his fingers through the soft plumage again, smoothing out the feathers he previously ruffled. He lowered himself so that he was at eye level with the phoenix.

“Can you see the damage from Dark Magic?” he asked. “Can you see it in me?”

Fawkes stared at his face for a long moment, and he wanted to flinch because the phoenix’s eyes seemed to bore into his soul, but he held the gaze steadily. When Fawkes looked away abruptly, he was sure it was because the creature had seen something insidious. But after a beat, the majestic bird leaned forward and nudged his beak against Gellert’s palm affectionately. It wasn’t an answer, but it wasn’t a rejection either.

-*-*-

**May 15, 1909**

**St. Mungo’s Hospital**

Aberforth Dumbledore volunteered in the Poisoning Department of St. Mungo’s every other weekend. He started in the summer after his second year at Hogwarts, when his late mother decided that he needed to interact with people outside of his own family (“goats don’t count!”). Even now, ten years after Kendra Dumbledore’s death, he continued his biweekly civic duty, mostly out of habit (according to him) but perhaps in small part out of respect for his deceased mother.

Today, he was tasked with transferring an elderly patient, Mr. Fensom, to the long-term residents’ ward. (The poor chap suffered a bite from a rare Japanese venomous snake ‘gifted’ to him by an old flame, and his recovery was expected to be a slow one.) Aberforth was relieved to escape the rather crotchety old man and his rambling relationship advice and gladly handed him over to the receiving Trainee Healer.

He was about to leave the fourth floor when a deafening crash made him whip around in alarm. Two levitating stretchers had collided, spilling the two occupants who shrieked simultaneously, and the stretchers bounced against the wall, knocking over the Trainee Healer and Mr. Fensom. Aberforth had his wand out quickly, but before he could mutter a single spell, the diorama playing out before him slowed and then froze in place, as if time itself had stopped. Then, in slow motion, the two occupants of the floating stretchers rolled back onto the stretchers safely, invisible hands seemed to steady the Trainee Healer and Mr. Fensom, and all spilled objects floated comfortably back to their original positions.

“Oh, my goodness,” gasped the Trainee Healer. “Thank you.” He nodded gratefully towards his rescuer. 

“Best not to multi-task too much, Mr. Fletcher.”

The Trainee Healer blushed and mumbled an apology, but Aberforth paid him no attention. He gaped at the new arrival.

“_You_,” he seethed, wand still outstretched. 

The blond-haired man turned to him sharply and, to his satisfaction, looked just as surprised to see him. “Aberforth? What are you doing here?”

Ignoring the question, Aberforth hissed, “I could ask you the same. What are _you_ doing here? Attack someone else lately?” He made no attempt to disguise his dislike for the other man. “I must say, this place does not suit you. Although I suppose you’re here on ‘official business.’” He said the last two words contemptuously. He didn’t think it was beneath Gellert Grindelwald to interrogate sickly witches and wizards in a place of healing. 

The target of his ire did not respond, but Trainee Healer Fletcher made an indignant noise beside him.

“Sir, Mr. Grindelwald is—” He stopped when Gellert held a hand up.

“It’s all right, Fletcher,” he said. “Aberforth and I know each other. He speaks in jest—”

Aberforth snorted but held his tongue. He forced himself to remember that he was in a room full of patients suffering from long-term spell damage. No matter how much he despised the other man, he was not going to start a full-blown fight in front of sick patients. 

At the very least, Gellert seemed to agree and gestured for Aberforth to follow him.

Sighing, the red head followed him warily through the corridors until they reached a door with a small label that read ‘Visiting Researcher,’ which the other man unlocked and invited him inside. Aberforth surveyed the small office with narrowed eyes, noting its shabby, dingy, and cramped state, as Gellert leaned against the edge of his messy desk. 

He was in no mood to exchange pleasantries. “What are you doing here?” he asked again with a curt voice.

“I work here,” replied Gellert shortly. At Aberforth’s scowl of disbelief, he continued, “This is my office. Cecil Abbott and I are working on a new healing spell, among a few other things.” 

Aberforth crossed his arms. “I thought you were an Auror.” He remembered his last run-in with the man quite vividly.

Gellert fidgeted with the edge of his desk. “I’m taking a break. Needed a change of scenery.”

Icy blue eyes glared at him. “After Albus kicked you out, I was hoping you would leave the country for good,” said Aberforth crisply. Not feeling particularly forgiving, he added, “A pity you stayed.”

He expected the other man to retort or even curse him, but Gellert’s eyes widened at the mention of his brother’s name. There was a slight tremble in his jaw, and his eyes seemed a little too bright and watery. (Aberforth always hated those asymmetrical eyes that Albus used to moon over, so unnatural… so unforgettable.) Perhaps he imagined it, but Gellert’s shoulders seemed to slump a little.

“How is Albus?” he asked rigidly, not even acknowledging Aberforth’s biting remarks. His eyes were now fixed on a spot over Aberforth’s head.

“Fine, no thanks to you,” came the gruff reply. “He’s much better off without you,” he said with a thin smile.

Again, he waited for a retaliation that never came. Instead, the blond man nodded distantly and refused to meet his eyes. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with suspicion and bewilderment, he would have laughed at the proud Gellert Grindelwald being rendered speechless in his presence. And while he was not above revelling in a little bit of schadenfreude, his adversary looked so damn pathetic (and wow, how the mighty have fallen) that even Aberforth didn’t have the heart to stoop to that level. 

In any case, Gellert’s bizarre behaviour and his presence at St. Mungo’s were none of his business. Albus had already rid himself of this dreadful man, so why should he dwell for a second longer on his brother’s former lover.

He turned his back to Gellert. “I should get back to my volunteer post,” he said acidly. “I’ll leave you to your mighty research. I would say write if you need anything, but seriously don’t bother—”

“Wait—just—one second.” Before his surly visitor could open the door, he summoned a small stack of paper from the windowsill and pressed it into Aberforth’s hands.

“What is this?” demanded Aberforth, glaring at the parchment skeptically. 

“A manuscript,” replied Gellert. If Aberforth didn’t know better, he would have described the man’s eyes as imploring (which was absurd – when has the annoying Austrian ever begged for anything?). “Nothing dangerous,” he insisted. “It’s about the healing charm I’ve been working on. I thought…” He hesitated, looking almost embarrassed. “Well, Albus always liked to keep on top of research, and to be honest, this work wouldn’t have been possible without him…” He trailed off, and his cheeks were a little red.

Aberforth frowned at the mention of his brother. Of course, Grindelwald would try to worm his way back into Albus’s life by taking advantage of his brother’s intellectual interests. But then again, if Albus was to be believed, Gellert had respected his wishes and kept his distance thus far. And furthermore, judging by the blond man’s surprised reaction on the wards, Aberforth had to admit that it was unlikely that Grindelwald specifically planned this run-in with him.

Against his own instincts, he reluctantly accepted the manuscript. “I’m not making any promises,” he warned testily. “Last time I checked, Albus didn’t want anything to do with you.”

He felt vindictively satisfied by the flinch this comment drew from the other man. But the sentiment passed surprisingly quickly when he remembered Albus’s misery of late. And while he found Grindelwald irritating on his best days, there was something far too melancholic in the other man’s posture for him to thrive too much in his pain. He sighed and, not for the first time, wondered how he ended up intertwined in this mess. 

“I’ll mention it when I see him… whenever that this,” he added gruffly. Clearly, he was out of his mind, agreeing to play messenger. 

Gellert nodded, looking more grateful towards him than he ever did in the entire history of their relationship. (In fairness, their relationship can be summed up with two words—spiteful resentment, so it wasn’t exactly a high bar to clear.) Aberforth sensed that there was something else he wanted to say.

_Out with it_. He was getting exasperated. He did not have all day.

“If that’s all—” he started saying, but Gellert snapped his fingers at the same time and a small folded piece of paper appeared in his hand. He handed it to Aberforth, who unfolded it to reveal an address in the village of Little Hangleton, followed by a single sentence in a foreign language—German, if he had to guess.

“What is this?”

“Albus will understand,” replied Gellert. He gave a wistful smile. “It’s the least I could do.” 

Aggravated by the cryptic response, Aberforth left the office without another word. That evening, he would meet up with a Hogwarts classmate that he had not seen in years at the Leaky Cauldron. The friend did not speak German but had a knack for translation spells. Even translated, neither of them could make heads or tails of the message:

_I found the stone._

-*-*-

**May 29, 1909**

**St. Mungo’s Hospital**

The assistant matron was usually responsible for bringing John Abbott to his monthly appointments at St. Mungo’s. She was astonished when Albus approached her the Thursday before the boy’s scheduled Saturday visit and offered to be the escort instead; weekends were generally periods of much sought after respite by most professors. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the offer. With the end of year exams fast approaching, students seemed to be suffering from convenient ailments in droves, and the head matron would be grateful for some additional aid.

Albus, on the other hand, did not mind spending some time with the bright Gryffindor student, but the main motivation for his trip was personal.

After five months of loneliness, sprinkled with ample doses of anger, sadness, and resentment at varying times, he has finally reached an agonizing conclusion: somewhere deep down in his infuriating and traitorous heart, he never truly accepted that it was over between them. He spent a long time pushing that thought away, insulating his heart with harsh facts about his former lover; he told himself over and over again that the other man did unspeakable cruel things, betrayed his trust, and lusted for power above all else.

But he could no longer ignore the nagging thoughts that kept him awake almost every night. He thought about Ariana’s Obscurus and the hours… days… then months that Gellert spent working on the problem. Every time he thought about the Elder Wand, he would also remember that night in Switzerland; Gellert had abandoned the wand to save him from mortal peril. Then there was John, of course. These were not consistent with the actions of an evil man.

When he couldn’t sleep, he would stare at the silver edelweiss and wonder if Gellert sometimes thought about him, too. He hoped so. 

Ironically, it was Aberforth who cemented his decision. A week earlier, his brother showed up unannounced in his office (the same office he once disparaged for Albus’s eclectic taste in interior design), shoved the manuscript and the note into his arms with a deep scowl, and stated loudly, “I’m probably going to regret this.”

Between the scowls and sarcastic comments, Albus could just about piece together a coherent picture of Aberforth’s encounter with Gellert at St. Mungo’s (and honestly, he had not expected St. Mungo’s of all places).

So it turns out that Gellert hadn’t fled the country to jumpstart their revolution after all (upon finding out, he felt equal parts confused and relieved). Instead, Gellert had quietly taken a sabbatical to work on his research in Healing magic (at this little bit of information, he even felt a sliver of strained pride). Well, well, Albus was beginning to have a pretty good idea as to where Fawkes was going during those long absences. 

What surprised him the most was the strange tone in Aberforth’s voice, like there was something that resembled _begrudging approval_ as his brother outlined quite matter-of-factly everything that Gellert had been up to for the last few months. (Albus made a mental note to recommend his brother as a spy should a war ever break out amongst their kind; he really had to admire Aberforth’s dedication to digging through all of Gellert’s comings and goings at St. Mungo’s. Then again, it was just _so_ like his brother not to trust Gellert in the slightest until he had all of the supporting evidence.) 

The thing about Aberforth that people often overlooked (among many other qualities) was that he was actually a decent judge of character. And there was certainly something his brother was trying to convey beneath his acerbic words and stiff posture.

“And so what are you trying to say?” he finally asked. 

Aberforth shot him an annoyed look, as he twisted uncomfortably, and Albus thought he might say nothing at all out of sheer stubbornness. Then his brother sighed and gritted out, “Just thought you might want to know that he is—erm, surprisingly, let’s be honest—just _possibly_ not the worst person in the world after all.”

He couldn’t help it—he laughed. Oh, he did not expect a day when Aberforth would be the one trying to convince _him_ of Gellert’s virtues (in a very Aberforth type of way, but nonetheless…). Somehow, he doubted that even Gellert with his Sight (or Third Eye or whatever—gods, he hated Divination, what a woolly subject) could have predicted this.

What else could he do but laugh at the absurdity of this turn of events. He dropped the manuscript amongst the multiple stacks of papers on his desk. It was easier to look at Aberforth than at Gellert’s writing.

Aberforth frowned a little, eyes darting briefly to the manuscript before settling on his brother. “I think you should read it,” he said brusquely. 

Albus stopped chuckling and ogled at him. Was Aberforth (Mr. I-don’t-care-about-your-stupid-research) trying to convince him (Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, Gold Medallist for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference, and Youngest Author of a Feature Article in Transfiguration Today) to read an _academic_ paper? Surely, the world was ending.

He glanced down at the manuscript. He noticed that it was quite crinkled at the edges, and lodged inside the crude binding, there were a few… goat hairs? He was dumfounded, because this was frankly unprecedented—Aberforth (_Aberforth_) actually read an academic journal article… written by Gellert.

“Look, I can’t stay.” His brother glanced at his pocket watch. “I left the goats for a few hours, so I need to get back to them.” He sighed. “Just read it,” he said quietly. “I… well, … never mind. You’ll know once you read it.” 

Albus swallowed and nodded numbly. He was still holding the other piece of paper that Aberforth handed to him. He glanced down at the folded note. 

“I had someone translate it, but I have no idea what it means,” said Aberforth, nodding at the paper. “_He_ said you would understand.” His brother gave him a final meaningful glance before excusing himself.

Left alone, he unfolded the note. Unlike his brother, he didn’t need a translation spell to understand German. He nearly dropped the note in shock. 

Because unlike his brother, the meaning was very clear to him. 

Gellert found the resurrection stone. He found another one of the _Hallows_ and was one step closer to becoming the master of Death.

Except Gellert wrote this note instead of seeking out the stone. What was Albus supposed to make of it? Did Gellert want Albus to have it? His note included a neatly scrawled address for the Gaunt family, a name that was familiar because it was one of the many leads Albus had proposed when looking for modern descendants of the Peverells. It looked like Gellert finished his work, and now… what? He was giving it to Albus like some half-baked apology? Gellert knew that Albus coveted the stone above all of the other Hallows; it was the only way, in this lifetime at least, for him to be reunited with his parents and Ariana.

With a wry smile, he recalled his warnings to Gellert before they set off for Switzerland_: In all the history of the Elder Wand, it has never ended well for the owners. Sometimes I think one man shouldn’t have that much power_. 

He clenched the note tightly, running this thumb across the German words. Was the stone any different from the wand, or was he just a hypocrite?

With this scathing thought, a bit of his thrill and compulsion for the resurrection stone faded, replaced with a growing feeling of guilt and trepidation. He had warned Gellert about the wand. Perhaps he should take his own advice. He put the note down; he took a deep breath. It didn’t hurt as much as he had expected. Maybe he had grown wiser, or maybe time does heal all wounds. Wrenching the peaceful dead from their heavenly rest to assuage his earthly needs seemed less sentimental and more deeply selfish the more he thought about it, especially when there were so many who were still living that he could help. And amongst the living, there was one person, above all else, he wanted—_yearned_ to see again.

He pushed the resurrection stone out of his mind and picked up the manuscript instead. As silly as it was, seeing the lines and lines of familiar handwriting made him feel warmer than he had in a long time. As he gazed over the list of authors, he felt a pang when he saw his own name listed; it shouldn’t be there… he may have contributed some ideas, but this was Gellert’s persistent labour over the course of years. As he read the article, he recognized bits of Cecil Abbott’s contribution as well, but most of it was pure Gellert, who always documented meticulously but communicated passionately. He had almost forgotten about Gellert’s gift for prose—even for an academic piece of work, it was beautiful.

At the end of an original article, as he knew well, it was customary for authors to acknowledge any mentors, sponsors, and other people to whom the work is indebted. This section was brief in Gellert’s manuscript, and it read simply:

_For Ariana_.

The two words blurred, as tears obscured his eyes, and he understood perfectly why Aberforth wanted him to read the manuscript. He felt simultaneously touched and ashamed by these two words. He was slightly ashamed that out of the three of them, it was Gellert who would honour the memory of his sister in a meaningful, lasting way. But the larger part of him was grateful more than anything that she would live on through his work, and while she had suffered, it had not been in vain. And Gellert’s Regeneration Charm would not only help rare Obscurials, but it would heal many forms of serious injuries—in fact, all the things that phoenix tears can heal. Maybe in a few years, it will be included in Hogwarts’ N.E.W.T. curriculum. He smiled at the thought.

Despite another sleepless night (at this point, it would be much easier to count the number of nights he did sleep well), he felt surprisingly alert the next morning. With the dawn also came a new clarity. While he had accepted that he has been unable to let go of Gellert, this was now compounded by having _no desire_ to let go. It would be self-flagellating and cowardly to do so, he decided.

It was with this resolve that he arrived at St. Mungo’s on a rainy Saturday afternoon with his young student in tow and the silver edelweiss tucked away in his pocket. They were running late; John had lost track of time after getting up at the crack of dawn to help Newt and Leta replant a couple of bowtruckles. (The kids really had no business dealing with something as advanced as bowtruckles, but he didn’t really have the heart to give them detention and, because he was a softie, let them off with a stern warning instead.)

Albus felt his heart thump a little quicker than usual when they arrived in the reception area. There was something about Gellert that always made his blood race; even in that first summer, when they scarcely left each other’s company, his pulse would always increase alarmingly in anticipation of reunion, no matter how brief their separation. After five months, the thought of seeing him again was nearly heart stopping. (He supposed if he really did go into cardiac arrest right now, aside from being horribly embarrassed and therefore wishing to remain dead, he would at least have the fortune of being surrounded by healers.)

He allowed his student to guide him to the long-term residents’ ward, a path that the boy knew with all too much familiarity.

To his disappointment, it was Cecil Abbott, the boy’s adopted father, who greeted him. The Healer shook his hand warmly, thanking him (rather unnecessarily, he thought) for teaching his son. Albus responded that he was honestly glad to have such a keen student. With his mind somewhere else, he politely congratulated the Healer on the manuscript, and this led Abbott to change the topic to Albus’s own work on the uses of dragon blood. Despite his distracted mind, the intellectual conversation ended up preoccupying both men so that neither noticed a new presence on the ward until—

“GELLERT!” exclaimed John, brushing past Albus as he skidded across the floor, eager to abandon the rather boring conversation between his father and his professor.

Albus stopped mid-sentence as his breath caught.

A familiar lithe figure with golden hair strolled onto the ward; the man glanced down warmly at the excited boy. “Hello, squirt,” replied Gellert with a smile.

John rolled his eyes. “I’m actually the tallest in my class,” he protested. (It was hardly his fault that he had been rather small for his age when the Auror rescued him in Portree—Dark wizards were not known for providing proper nutrition. In any case, he more than made up for it by now.)

Albus watched as his student led Gellert back towards them. He knew the exact millisecond when Gellert noticed him, because the mismatched eyes that met his widened in surprise, and a little colour flushed across the pale cheeks. (He may have preened a little; it bolstered him, knowing that he still had some visceral effect on Gellert.) Albus smiled involuntarily in spite of his nervousness. He was further relieved to note that the shocked eyes gazing back at him contained no hostility.

And never let anyone accuse him of having pure thoughts. Immediately, he couldn’t help but notice how handsome Gellert looked in his white Healer’s uniform, a stark contrast to his usual preference for dark colours. Albus thought it suited him; it was a more… angelic look. (Gellert would rail against such an adjective.) Then again, his objectivity in this matter was questionable; he would probably find Gellert attractive wearing a brown potato sac. 

“This is my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dumbledore,” John introduced him. “And this is Gellert Grindelwald. He’s one of the Aurors who rescued me.”

For a moment, boldness took over him, and he winked at Gellert and stuck out his hand. To his surprise, the blond man gave a small smirk in return and accepted his handshake. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Grindelwald,” he said with a teasing note in his voice.

“Likewise, Professor.” 

Goodness, he missed that voice and that barely perceptible accent. For a moment, it was like they were back in Bathilda’s garden in Godric’s Hollow, flirting shamelessly in their own subtle way. 

John looked from one to the other, brows furrowed at the apparent familiarity. “Have you met before?” he asked. 

“Only a few times,” replied Albus, still smiling. He didn’t want to let go of Gellert’s hand.

“Come with me, John,” interrupted Healer Abbott, coming to their rescue. “We need to do your assessment, and I’m sure Gellert and the professor would love to catch up with each other.”

Once they were left alone in the middle of the ward, which was eerily silent except for an occasional snore from one of the patients, Gellert moved first to release his hand. Albus mourned at the loss of contact; he cleared his throat, feeling some awkwardness settle in for the first time. Well, there was no point in beating around the bush.

“I wanted to see you,” Albus said quickly. “Can—can we talk?”

Frustratingly, Gellert didn’t quite meet his eyes, but nodded in acquiescence. “I have an office,” he murmured, inviting Albus to follow him.

They walked in silence to the small office. As he entered, Albus looked around—the room was unusually bright despite the tiny window and rainy weather. He looked up and smiled again; small baubles of yellow light floated beneath the ceiling—a lighting charm and one of Albus’s own inventions. Gellert followed his gaze and looked a little abashed.

“It’s a useful spell,” he said somewhat defensively.

Albus’s smile faltered. The other man seemed a lot less at ease now that they were alone. He supposed it was foolish for him to expect them to pick up as if nothing had transpired.

“You wanted to talk,” continued Gellert, voice clipped.

For all of his determination and eloquence, Albus found it difficult to find the right words. “I—I really wanted to see you,” he said again. Okay, so maybe he should have rehearsed this, but he had stubbornly decided that a rehearsed speech would be disingenuous. Instead, he was going to improvise from the heart. (Great idea, he thought sarcastically.)

“I miss you, Gellert, and I thought—well, I thought—you might feel the same way.”

If anything, Gellert looked even more closed off after this declaration. His right hand twitched, and his eyes still refused to meet Albus’s. Albus felt his stomach drop uncomfortably.

“I…” Gellert trailed off. He rubbed a hand absently across his face. There was something crumbling in his visage, but then, inexplicably, his expression hardened. “I don’t think so.”

“What?”

No, he couldn’t have heard that properly.

“I… don’t feel the same way,” repeated Gellert stiffly.

The rejection stung worse than Albus could have imagined. His whole body went cold and stiff. He could not have felt more despair if dementors suddenly materialized in the room. 

After a moment, fury also boiled within him. Albus glared at his former lover, furious with himself and wounded by the other man’s coldness.

This was all a mistake. He should have known better.

“So… that’s it?” he asked through gritted teeth. He wasted his time coming here, just to listen to this staggering rejection. “And you won’t even look at me.”

Reluctantly, Gellert met the icy blue eyes, but his expression remained guarded. “_You_ ended things with _me_,” he bit back. There was a strangely forced hostility in his voice. “I have not forgotten.” Then he looked away again. “And you were right, we _are_ better off not seeing each other. I sent you the manuscript because you deserve credit as a co-author, _not_ because I wanted to see you again.” 

Well, Albus was wrong. He _could_ feel more despair, as it turned out; every single word was a serrated dagger to his heart. He blinked away tears, and this time he was the one to turn away.

He needed a few seconds to gather himself. “Okay then.” He refused to show further weakness. “You’ve made your feelings quite clear, Gellert, so let’s settle the rest of it.” Merlin, he could be spiteful too. “Take my name off the manuscript. I have no desire to be associated with you.” He felt a stab of vindictive pleasure as Gellert recoiled at his words; it served him right. “And don’t come near Fawkes again. It’s unbecoming for such a magnificent creature to associate with someone like you.” Part of him knew he was being childishly cruel, but he was a wounded child in this moment. The words had their intended effect; Gellert shrank away from him with open hurt written plainly across his face. 

He couldn’t stand to be in the claustrophobic office for a second longer. He didn’t wait for a response; he stormed out, half-blinded by tears.

He drew concerned looks as he stalked savagely through the hallway. Paying little attention to his surroundings, he managed to side-swipe a young woman in a heavy arm cast.

She yelped in surprise, colliding with the wall, and her eyes started tearing up with pain.

He stopped to steady her. “Sorry,” he muttered. He thrust his hand into his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. He handed it to her with another apology.

She sniffed into the handkerchief, glaring at him with watery eyes and a heavy wince. “You dropped something,” she said disdainfully, pointing to the floor. Then she turned her head pointedly and sauntered away without waiting for his acknowledgement.

He looked down to where she had pointed, and his chest clenched painfully. Floating innocently above the tiled floor was the silver edelweiss he had stuffed into his pocket a few hours earlier, when he had been full of hope and anticipation. The flower sat there, pristine as usual, in full bloom and sparkling defiantly. 

He stood still, wand outstretched, ready to obliterate the blasted thing. Except it probably wouldn’t work, just like when Aberforth tried to incinerate it months ago.

He lowered his wand, frowning. New thoughts raced through his mind. 

Then after nearly a full minute, he laughed loudly. There was a triumphant glee in his laughter. This drew even more concerned looks from passersby. He didn’t care that he looked positively mad, leaning against the wall and grinning from ear to ear. 

He was partly laughing at his own foolishness. Because he had been so _stupid_ for someone who prided himself so much on his intellect. 

He scooped the flower into his palm and marched back down the hallway towards the office he had just fled. His despair melted away with every step.

He pushed the door open fiercely, startling Gellert, who was sitting at his desk with his face in his hands. The last person he expected to see again was Albus, but here he was, barely thirty seconds after storming away and telling Gellert in no uncertain terms that he wanted nothing to do with him ever again.

“Did you forget some—”

“Oh, please shut up,” snapped Albus, blue eyes flashing with… well, Gellert wasn’t sure what exactly, but he was unnerved. “You are SUCH an idiot, Gellert,” he added.

Gellert opened his mouth and closed it, speechless. He thought perhaps Albus had lost his mind, and maybe even forgot about their blood pact, and was now back to curse him in broad daylight. When the other man stepped towards him aggressively, it only confirmed his suspicion. 

But before Gellert could decide whether it was acceptable to raise his wand in self defense, warm and soft lips descended on top of his. The lips were plush and gentle and _familiar_, and Gellert closed his eyes; he had missed kissing these lips. He responded instinctively, returning the kiss with equal fervour. He could taste a familiar hint of lemon, and that definitely made him smile a little. Albus made a pleasant moaning sound without breaking contact, which excited an entirely different part of him, drawing a little groan from his own lips. He ran his fingers through the soft auburn hair, and _by Merlin_, he missed that beautiful colour and silky texture.

He couldn’t think about anything else for a few moments. All he wanted was to lose himself in this kiss. 

But the memory of a white marble tomb flashed in his mind, snapping him out of his reverie. No—what was he doing! This was all _wrong_. He cannot let this happen, and Albus should not have come back. Even as his mind told him all of this, his heart raged bitterly against the cold logic. It took all of his will, but he pushed his palm against the warm chest to force them apart. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, sadness tinging his voice.

He was expecting, maybe even hoping, that Albus would look at him with hurt and anger (because he can deal with that… he has prepared for that). Instead, Albus brushed away an errant lock of auburn hair that had fallen into his eye (Gellert clenched his fingers to stop the involuntary itch to do the same—he _really _did love that colour) and gave him a gentle smile. It only made him feel worse, because he needed to push Albus away. He already did it once today, and he wasn’t sure he could summon the courage to do it again. Except, he _must_. He was the poison that seeped into Albus’s life, and Albus deserved so much better. 

Not so long ago, he wanted to rule the Wizarding world with Albus by his side. Now, he wanted… he honestly didn’t know anymore. But the Wizarding world still needed Albus Dumbledore to be their shining beacon of light, untainted by him.

Yet with every smile from Albus, his resolve wavered a fraction more.

“Look at this,” said the auburn-haired man, holding out his hand to show him a small white flower.

At first, Gellert blinked in confusion. He needed a few seconds to recognize the silver edelweiss he once plucked from the mountain that overlooked his hometown in the Austrian Alps.

“Do you know what this means?” Albus asked him gently. “You gave this to me years ago, and after everything, it looks identical to the day you gave it to me.”

Gellert struggled to understand. “It’s just a flower, Albus,” he said in a small voice. Had his carefully planned words fallen apart because of some flower? Only minutes ago, Albus had been all too eager to forsake him forever, and now he was back, waxing poetic about a _flower_? He had no idea that Albus kept the flower, or that it would still be alive after all these years. 

The twinkle was back in those beautiful blue eyes. “Dear Merlin, you really don’t know, do you?” Albus’s tone was light and humorous. “And I thought you were well read and a romantic,” he teased, pleased when this drew a curious look from Gellert. “Herbologists, your countrymen in fact,” he explained cheerfully, “have documented that the silver edelweiss can only be harvested by a person who is in love, and it lives only as long as that love endures.” 

He touched Gellert’s face lightly, cupping the stubborn jaw. “That’s why I don’t believe you, Gellert. I don’t believe what you said about not missing me, and I don’t believe that you no longer care about me. You can lie to me, for whatever reason you are not telling me, and you can lie to yourself, but the evidence does not lie. You once said that I am all about the facts, so here is a fact for you: I love you. Sometimes, I think I loved you in the first ten seconds we met, but after ten years, I _still_ love you and I always will. Here is another fact: I know you love me.” He studied Gellert’s anguished expression. “So, please, Süßer… _talk_ to me. Because I won’t give up on us, and I’m not leaving here without you.”

A fragile silence settled between them. The affection with which Albus regarded him was unbearable. He did not understand what he had done to deserve it; the vision aside, Albus knew the worst parts of him, knew that he belonged to the darkness, and somehow still stood here—boldly declaring his love. All because of a flower? Of course, he loved Albus, which is why he must protect the other man, even from himself. But his heart was so tired of fighting; he wanted nothing more than to fall into that gentle embrace of eternal affection, to selfishly wrap himself up in everything that Albus offered.

When he didn’t answer, Albus sighed with soft exasperation.

“Do you want to know what I saw in the Mirror of Erised?” asked Albus suddenly. “It wasn’t what you saw. It wasn’t the Hallows united or Wizarding dominance. I saw us, just the two of us, standing side-by-side as old men and happy that we made a difference in the world together.” There was the barest hint of bitterness in his voice. “That’s what I didn’t want to tell you, Gellert, that my greatest desire in the world was simply to be with you. Not when… back then, and even now, I suppose, you cared more about changing the world than about us.” His last few words trembled, and part of him hated how desperate he sounded, so he drew away a little—or at least he tried to, but Gellert seized his arm in an iron grip, drawing him closer until their faces were barely an inch apart.

“No,” said Gellert harshly. “You’re wrong.” When Albus tried to look away, he reached to touch the slightly flushed cheek and turned the beautiful head until their eyes met again. His hand was surprisingly gentle. “Please…” said Gellert imploringly. “I want you to see.” 

Albus allowed his fingers to be guided to the blond man’s temple. The fair skin was smooth and flawless; he indulged in the familiar sensation beneath his fingers.

When he entered Gellert’s mind, the first thing he noticed was the warmth. It was like the sun shining on his face after a long, cold winter. He wanted nothing more than to bask in this warmth, but he remembered why he was here.

_There were stone steps beneath his feet. He walked a few metres and looked around. He was at Hogwarts, and there was a wooden door in front of him. He remembered being here before. Someone squeezed his hand. He was shocked to see his own, slightly younger, smiling face looking back at him._

_“It’s quite extraordinary!” his younger self told him. He smiled back (or more accurately, the younger Gellert smiled back). He allowed himself to be dragged into the room. The familiar Mirror of Erised loomed in front of them._

_“What am I supposed to be looking at?” he heard himself asking in Gellert’s voice. In the mirror, Gellert’s confused face looked back. He stared fondly at those unique, startling eyes. His younger self was speaking again, but he wasn’t listening. Then, he felt himself being pulled a little to his left. Now, standing in the centre of the mirror, the reflection disappeared and morphed into a different image._

_He stopped breathing. Oh, he had been so wrong._

_Because he has already seen this image. Sometimes, he would see it in his happiest dreams.** I saw us, just the two of us, standing side-by-side as old men and happy that we made a difference in the world together.**_

_Tears sprang to his eyes, or maybe it was Gellert’s eyes in the memory. It didn’t matter; he felt as if the weight of the earth lifted off of him. He heard Gellert’s voice again, coming from his lips. “Does this mirror show…?”_

_“Have you guessed?” his younger self replied eagerly. Their conversation continued, but Albus of the present paid little attention. He could only stare at the mirror, transfixed by the image of Gellert’s greatest desire. Joining the lightness in his heart was the new feeling of elation._

_If this wasn’t a memory, if he could go off script, he would have danced across the room in joy._

_“Do you see yourself holding the Hallows? The Wizarding world living openly around you?” His younger self’s question finally jolted him out of his fantasies._

_He heard Gellert’s younger self replying in affirmation—a blatant lie. Why?_

“Because I was scared,” said a quiet voice in his ear. The memory dissolved slowly until he was back in the small office at St. Mungo’s. He blinked at Gellert of the present day, a little older than the young man he just saw but just as handsome and vibrant.

“I wish you would have told me,” confided Albus.

“I do, as well,” said Gellert with a tinge of shame. “But I never had your courage.” 

He scoffed and reached for Gellert’s hand. “No,” he objected. “You are braver than you think.”

To his disappointment, Gellert only shook his head. “I was a coward. I always craved power, above all else. Seeing that my greatest desire was you, when I did not expect it, I felt scared.” He looked down at his feet. “I thought I would abandon my ‘special destiny’ for you, so I fought against it. I did terrible things to fulfill that destiny. At the same time, I wanted nothing more than to be worthy of you.” He released a deep sigh. “In the end, I failed at both.” 

Albus was also shaking his head. “If you were a coward, then so was I.” He knew all about fear, as he too had concealed what he saw in the mirror until today. For him, it was the fear of rejection, because he did not want Gellert to know the extent of his affection; he was scared that his feelings may not be returned. “And you didn’t fail,” he added, leaving no room for argument. “Look around you, Gellert. You stand in the halls of healing. You save lives… you always have.”

Gellert huffed in disbelief. “You said it yourself. I’ve hurt people. I’ve _killed_ people. I’ve been selfish, taking the wand for myself.”

He took a step back, but Albus did not flinch or let go of his hand.

“But you are not a bad man,” said Albus so earnestly that Gellert nearly believed it too. “You are capable of terrible things—”

He protested, “I _did_ do terrible things—” 

“Yes, you are capable of terrible things,” interjected Albus with a stern glare, “and maybe you even acted on a few of them, but you also chose to do _good_. Don’t you dare deny it. I read your manuscript, and for the love of—even Aberforth read your manuscript, and he would agree with me.” Albus shot him a wry smile. “In the history of the Elder Wand, you must be the first to use it to save lives every day. And you’ve taught others how to perform your spell, allowing them to pass that gift forward. I also know that you found the resurrection stone and chose not to take it.” He paused, challenge blazing in his passionate gaze. “Tell me, are these the actions of a selfish, evil man? You’ve been doing good things long before you set foot in St. Mungo’s. You helped Ariana and John, and all the work you did with Fawkes, and yes, I know he’s been seeing you.”

He threw his hands up in frustration at Gellert’s continued silent brooding. “What can I say to make you believe that you are a good man?” 

“You don’t understand,” whispered Gellert at last. “I had a vision, Albus. In the future, I will fail. Even with the Elder Wand, I won’t be good enough. The Wizarding world will be plunged into darkness. You will pay the price because of my failures. I have _seen_ it.” He desperately wanted the other man to understand. “You were right to stay away from me. You _have_ to stay away from me.”

For a second, it seemed like his words poured a bucket of ice water over Albus, who stared at him in frozen shock. Then, a heartbeat later, he wordlessly wrapped his arms around Gellert in a tight embrace, and his hands ran through the golden locks in a comforting caress. Albus pressed his face against the trembling cheek, and his breath was warm against Gellert’s ear. 

“I want you to listen carefully, you beautiful selfless dolt,” he said slowly, deliberately. He wanted to make sure Gellert heard every word. “What you saw was a _version_ of the future. That’s what you taught me about the Sight: the future is not set. Maybe it’s a load of rubbish, and maybe it’s not. It doesn’t matter. It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves. And I refuse to accept that there is any future where the world is better place with us apart.”

Gellert shuddered in his embrace, but he refused to let go. He would never let go again. He squeezed a little tighter when he heard sharp, hitching breaths from Gellert hitching into a quiet sob. He pressed his lips against the soft cheek, landing a gentle kiss. “I’m with you,” he promised. 

Nestled in the warm embrace, Gellert wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words, couldn’t find _any_ words. He could not believe that this wonderful man who had every right to run from him, who knew all the rotten parts of him, chose to stand here in defiance of Fate and protect him with his bright, warm soul. He could live a hundred years with Albus, and it would not be enough.

He _wanted_ to live at least a hundred years with him.

He buried his nose in the crook of Albus’s neck; the gentle scent of parchment, lemon, and auburn hair soothed him. Maybe it was time for him to stop punishing himself. Maybe it was time to stop accepting Fate. He could fight it with Albus at his side. There was a lot to figure out, but they could do it together. 

“I love you,” he managed to croak through tears, but his voice was hoarse and barely audible. “I love you,” he repeated, more clearly. Somehow, in ten years, he never once said these words. Now, he wanted to say them over and over again.

Albus laughed, his breath tickling Gellert’s ear. “I know,” he replied playfully. He pulled back and brushed away a tear from one of the mismatched eyes. “I guess I win,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle against the soft, pale eyelashes. “I did say I was not leaving here without you.”

This was met with a sniffle and a small chuckle. “Well, you could have timed it better. I have eight hours left of my ten hour shift.”

“What’s eight hours after five months?” he quipped.

Gellert stared at him, eyes watery but filled with renewed hope. “I really missed you,” he admitted.

Albus hummed agreeably. “If it’s any comfort, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was driving me insane.”

“Trying to sleep was the worst,” added Gellert with a little smirk. “I even missed your blanket stealing and your icy toes. Well, maybe not your icy toes…” He received a gentle thump on the chest for his comment; he flicked Albus’s nose in retaliation, earning a pleasant little squeak of surprise.

Then Albus leaned in for another kiss, which he obliged happily. When they parted, he adopted a more serious tone. “I guess we have a lot to work through,” he remarked soberly. Surprisingly, he did not feel overburdened by the realization.

“Yes, we do,” agreed Albus, but a little smile still tugged at his lips. “No one is perfect.”

“I never will be,” cautioned Gellert, but a smile was re-emerging on his face too.

“Mm-hmm,” his partner murmured, already leaning forward again to press small kisses to the corner of his mouth. They were both starved for physical contact.

“And I still want to make a few changes to the world,” Gellert continued, deciding to leave it all on the table. Secrecy got him into this mess in the first place. “Plus, you should probably know that I am going to screw up at some point, probably multiple times. At least once every five years, but maybe more. Also, I have a nasty temper, but you might already know about that.” 

“Oh yes,” affirmed Albus sarcastically. “Your temper is infamous, particularly when you attempt to cook. It’s a marvel that you haven’t starved to death living on your own.” He chuckled, but then added in a more serious tone, “I am not perfect either. And you’re not the only one who wants to make some changes to the world.” He pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t. Together.”

_Together_. Gellert always liked the sound of that. With some of his former boldness returning, he slid a hand underneath the excessive layers of clothing, relishing in the touch of Albus’s bare stomach against his fingers. If the soft groan was anything to go by, it didn’t seem like his lover had the slightest objection. He pressed a hot kiss against the open mouth; his tongue explored the mouth he had missed so badly. Albus made a positively obscene noise as their tongues slid against each other. Gellert’s hand wandered lower, ready to unfasten—

A sharp knock rapped against the door. They both cursed softly.

“Sir, your 2 o’clock is here early,” informed a low female voice. “Shall I tell him to wait?”

Gellert pulled away with a frustrated groan; he reluctantly straightened his clothing and combed a hand through his mussed-up hair. (He was rather pleased when Albus adjusted his own clothes with a slightly shaky hand.)

“No,” he replied to the ward sister, trying to disguise his annoyance. “I’ll be right there.”

He shot Albus an apologetic look, and his lover responded with a magnanimous smile. His heart fluttered a little.

To his dismay, Albus shuffled away from him, probably not trusting that he would keep his hands to himself without some distance. He watched as the blue eyes gazed around his office, looking for something to interest him. Albus grinned broadly when he spotted a tray of sweets in the corner of Gellert’s messy desk.

“Sherbet lemon, my favourite!” he exclaimed. He popped one into his mouth and raised a coy eyebrow. “And you thought you could pretend that you were over me?”

“It’s just sweets,” retorted Gellert, but his denial was futile. He was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with this man.

With a dramatic twirl, Albus sat down in the oversized chair; he crossed his arms expectantly. “Well, what are you waiting for? I’m a man of my word. I’ll be waiting for you right here.”

Gellert narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “If I come back and find all of my papers sorted alphabetically by the lunar calendar, I swear—”

An impatient hand waved at him. “Go save lives, Liebling.”

-*-*-

After they spent the evening getting reacquainted with what they both sorely missed, physically and emotionally, they finally allowed themselves to drift off in a contented haze. Just as Albus was about to doze off, Gellert’s voice pulled him back.

“I want to show you something.”

With a graceful flourish, Gellert pointed his wand at the ceiling. “_Expecto patronum_.”

A silver phoenix emerged from the tip of his wand, dancing above Albus gracefully before flying through the open window and into the night.

Albus’s blue eyes were watery when he turned to Gellert. “How long?” he asked.

“Years.”

-*-*-

_The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins—but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back._

_Love is more than a candle._

_Love can ignite the stars._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes the main story! Short epilogue to follow. I hope I have tied up most of the loose ends. "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves" is a quote from William Shakespeare.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Appreciate your feedback!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have enclosed the latest drafts for the two special edition cards we are planning to include in next quarter’s Chocolate Frog line.

**June 12, 1991**

** _From: _ ** _Ambrosius Flume, Owner and Proprietor, Honeydukes, Hogsmeade_

** _Addressed to: _ ** _Elliott Pickering, Copy Editor, Diagon Alley, London_

Dear Mr. Pickering,

Thank you for promptly sending back the edits for Minister Theseus Scamander. I look forward to receiving the updated card for John Abbott as well. (In fact, we are looking into expanding the Chocolate Frog Auror Collection, which has been very well received! Sales from our last quarter were up by 39%.) 

I have enclosed the latest drafts for the two special edition cards we are planning to include in next quarter’s Chocolate Frog line. Please peruse and alter at your convenience. Our intern is quite fastidious in her research and thorough in her writing to the detriment of the word count. As a guideline, I would prefer if we could limit the descriptions to no more than one hundred words. I shall leave it to your trusted judgement regarding what you think should be included as the bare essentials – no easy task for these two wizards. 

[Enclosed #1] 

_Albus Dumbledore (1881—) is currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many to be one of the greatest wizards of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for co-founding the Order of the Phoenix with his long-time friend Gellert Grindelwald in 1916, for his extensive humanitarian work during both World Wars, and for his contribution to the defeat of the Dark Lord in 1981._

_Professor Dumbledore is widely respected for his role in the Greater Good Movement of the early twentieth century, for his ceaseless promotion of Muggle-Wizard relations, and for his dedication to the ongoing success of the joint Muggle-Wizard British government (1970—). He currently serves as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards (1981—) and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot (1970—)._

_He is also known for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, his ground-breaking work on Time Transfiguration, and his achievements in alchemy with Nicolas Flamel._

_In his spare time, Professor Dumbledore enjoys knitting patterns, interior design, chamber music, and losing at tenpin bowling._

[Enclosed #2]

_Gellert Grindelwald (1883—) is a British-Austrian healer and former Auror. Considered by many to be one of the greatest wizards of modern times, Grindelwald is most famous for co-founding the Order of the Phoenix with his lifelong friend Albus Dumbledore in 1916 in response to the First World War (1914-1917), as well as for his leadership in the subsequent Second World War (1939-1943) and Great Wizarding War (1975-1981)._

_In his storied career, Grindelwald has served as Head Auror (1911-1916), Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (1922-1925), Interim Minister for Magic (1925-1926), and Chief Healer of St. Mungo’s (1943-1971, 1981-1989)._

_He discovered the seven properties of phoenix tears and is a pioneer of the Regeneration Charm. He is also celebrated for his role in the early twentieth century Greater Good Movement (predecessor to the Order of the Phoenix), the enactment of Ariana’s Law (The Protection of Young Witches and Wizards Act) in 1925, and the abolition of Rappaport’s Law in 1933._

_Since retiring from St. Mungo’s in 1989, Grindelwald occasionally teaches at Hogwarts as a guest professor of Divination and Defense Against the Dark Arts. In his spare time, Grindelwald enjoys cooking and winning at tenpin bowling._

I look forward to receiving your response.

Yours truly,

Ambrosius Flume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I swear I paid attention to history class, so those are deliberately altered dates for the World Wars and the First Wizarding War, because I imagined that together Albus and Gellert bit by bit helped the world become a better place and ended those conflicts sooner (or delayed the rise of Voldemort for as long as they could). There was a lot of headcanon that I had to trim down to Chocolate Frog card length (ish... took some liberties here, haha).
> 
> Cover art now added to Chapter 1.
> 
> Thank you for following this story to the conclusion! Would love to hear your feedback.


End file.
